


You or Somebody Like You I thru XIII

by starshine24mc



Category: The X-Files
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-05-15
Updated: 2001-05-15
Packaged: 2018-11-20 20:08:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 37,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11342364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starshine24mc/pseuds/starshine24mc
Summary: A real X-File, and not just gratuitous sex...mmm...gratuitous sex...oops. Thanks for the seeds that started this story growing, Shane, you've been a great help during a rough time.





	You or Somebody Like You I thru XIII

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Basement](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Basement), which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Basement's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thebasement/profile).

 

You or Somebody Like You by Goddess Michele

Title: You or Somebody Like You Chapter 1: Real World  
Author: Goddess Michele  
Fandom: X-Files  
Pairing: M/Sk  
Spoilers: various and sundry, nothing specific  
Rating: NC-17  
Beta: none, but all suggestions welcome  
Disclaimer: Boring but necessary disclaimer: C.C., Fox and 1013 own them, I'm just borrowing them for fun, not profit, and I promise to return them only slightly bruised, and maybe crying a little, but they liked it!  
Feedback:   
Website: http://www.angelfire.com/oh4/homeofthegoddess  
Archive: put it wherever you like, just leave my name on it  
Summary: A real X-File, and not just gratuitous sex...mmm...gratuitous sex...oops. Thanks for the seeds that started this story growing, Shane, you've been a great help during a rough time.

* * *

"Please don't change, please don't break, the only thing that seems to  
work at all is you..."  
-Matchbox 20, Real World

Georgetown Memorial Hospital  
Friday, 5:10 pm

Dana Scully looked up as someone called out her name. She saw three men rushing down the hallway towards her. One was short and stocky, one tall and lanky. It was the third one, in the brown suit, who had spoken.

"Thanks for coming, guys."

"Where else would we be?" Frohicke replied, and Byers asked, "How is he?"

The question seemed to force whatever emotions Scully had buried to the surface, and her eyes shimmered with unshed tears, which she blinked away furiously, apparently almost embarrased by the display.

"It doesn't look good." She took a deep shaky breath and found her control again. "There was a lot of damage."

"Shit," Langly muttered under his breath, running a hand through his thinning blonde hair.

"What can we do?"

Scully looked into their worried, yet somehow calm faces, and felt something akin to gratitude just for their presence.

"Mulder's in with him now. We just have to wait." She sat down abruptly in the chair outside of the intensive care unit, and slumped back in the seat, closing her eyes.

The Gunmen looked at one another with distress, knowing it had to be bad if even the unflappable Dr. Scully was on the verge of exhaustion and tears.

"Shit," Langly said again.

***

Fox Mulder stepped quietly into the dim hospital room. He was vaguely aware of the sound of his own breathing; loud in his ears over the muted mechanical sounds of the life-monitoring equipment clustered around the lone bed in the room.

Mulder approached the bed warily, blinking back tears to focus on the man lying on it.

Walter Skinner lay so pale and still that for a moment Mulder thought he'd lost him, that he had just slipped away while he had been talking to Scully, and a shudder ran through his body. Then he marked the slow but steady rise and fall of the older man's chest, and he let out a breath he didn't know he was holding.

 Still moving slowly, like a man who's taken a vicious blow to the kidneys and expects to wet himself at any moment, he pulled a chair up next to the bed and sat carefully, mindful of the wires and tubes that coursed and snaked their way around and into his lover. He took a moment to fret over the paleness of Walter's skin, in sharp contrast to the dark smudges under his closed eyes, and the bluish tint of his lips, speaking wordless volumes about blood loss and oxygen deprivation.

The bandages were even whiter than his skin, and they seemed to be everywhere. One was wrapped stiffly around a bicep, another around the wrist of the arm opposite. A square of white gauze covered a generous portion of one shoulder, and, finally, worst of all, peeking just above the blanket that covered Skinner from the waist down was a seemingly endless loop of bandages and gauze, thoroughly wrapping the man's torso.

Mulder put a hand to his mouth, aghast at the amount of damage that lay before him. Even though Scully had quickly briefed him on what to expect, and he wasn't any stranger to gunshot wounds, having been on both the giving and receiving end of more than a few in his day (his own shoulder twinged with what could only be sympathy pain), nothing could have prepared him for this.

***

He'd been at home when the call came, sorting clothing into untidy heaps, trying to determine what he should keep, and what he should be donating to the Salvation Army.

He picked up a grey v-neck sweater and gave it a critical eye. It was worn, but not overly so, and there were no holes in it, although the neckline was starting to fray a little. He suddenly grinned bitterly as he remembered that this was his "shoot-your-neighbour-fake-your-own-death" sweater. He immediately tossed it into the charity pile.

The next item was a black t-shirt, threadbare and more worn than the sweater, with a tear in the shoulder seam and another around the collar. His smile was softer this time as he realized that the shirt was well past even second-hand standards, but would never, ever go to charity, let alone in the garbage, which is probably where it should have gone.

Impulsively, he hugged the scrap of fabric, thinking of the first time he had ever worn it, then remembering the many times after, and fancying he could still smell Walter's cologne on it, despite the many washings. Then he laughed at his own foolishness, and set the garment gently into the 'keep' pile. He knew that Skinner and Scully would have something to say about the shirt if they saw it. Both of them, unbeknownst to the other, had lectured him already about his packrat tendencies.

Logically he knew he had to cull the junk-herd that was his home before the move. And generally speaking, he was not overly sentimental about his possessions. But it seemed that every time he tried to lessen the clutter in his life, it doubled instead. 'Must be an X-File', he thought, even as he wondered what the hell Walter, with all his austere tendencies, was thinking, wanting to combine households.

From somewhere under a pile of clothes, his cel phone chirped. It took several minutes to find the thing, buried as it was, but it kept on ringing-whoever was on the other end was showing extreme tenacity.

When he finally unearthed the damn thing, he realized that he had just undone an entire afternoon's worth of work, and the clothes he had so carefully separated were now all jumbled together again. He swore under his breath and thumbed the receiver switch.

"Mulder."

"Mulder, it's me."

Scully, probably checking on his progress. He smiled.

"Hey, G-Woman! I think I'm making some real headway here-"

"Mulder," she cut him off, and an internal alarm suddenly went off at the flat tone of her voice.

"What is it?"

"I'm at Georgetown Memorial."

"What?! Scully, are you okay?" He gripped the phone tighter as stray thoughts of Scully's cancer, it's miraculous remission and not cure coursed through his mind.

"Mulder, it's Walter."

"What about him?" His brain quickly inventoried a catalogue of ailments from heart attack to hangnail, and he prayed it was the latter.

"He's here. He's been shot."

The phone fell from suddenly nerveless fingers to land on the black tee shirt with a muffled thud, and he ran for the door.

***

And now here he was, sitting stunned and disbelieving and staring dumbly at his lover, trying to reconcile the damaged figure before him with his own mental picture of Walter Skinner. Walter who was the hero of the play that was his life, who was the strong one, the holder, the protector, the-

This was so wrong. He was the one who was supposed to take it on the chin, not Walter. He was the one who was supposed to be in hospitals, who was always in trouble, who was always getting hurt, who was always putting himself in the line of fire. He was the one who deserved-

Abruptly he reached out for the hand nearest to him, taking a gentle hold on it, mindful of the I.V. and the bandages. He curled his fingers around Walter's, imagining that somehow he'd get a response. He didn't.

A silent sob made his whole body shake, and he gripped Walter's hand a little tighter as his vision blurred again with tears.

A sudden noise behind him, and he bit his lip, blinked back the tears and turned slightly, not relinquishing his hold on Walter's hand.

Frohicke stood in the doorway, looking as miserable as Mulder had ever seen him.

"Hey, Mulder-" He wasn't sure what else to say.

"What are you doing here?"

"Scully called us. I guess she thought-" He shrugged, not knowing what Scully had been thinking, but Mulder knew. Scully knew that the Gunmen were the closest thing to friends that he had, herself excepted, and she knew he relied on them in ways that he didn't think even they were aware of.

He gave Frohicke a ghost of a smile.

"Where are the other two Mouseketeers?" he asked.

Frohicke came around to the end of the bed, absently gazing at the chart attached there, more from force of habit than from any real expectations.

"Byers went with Scully to the Monroe wing-she wants us to check out the blood samples they got from the perp. Langly's gone to get coffee-figured you could probably use one, and wouldn't want to go too far-"

Mulder, who was staring at him, some harsh and surprised expression on his face, cut him off.

"They caught the person?" he demanded.

"Well, yeah. Didn't Scully tell you?"

Mulder let go of his lover's hand, stood and bolted for the door, pausing only a moment to give Walter's comatose figure one last anguished glance, and then he was gone.

Frohicke almost followed, then held back a moment and appraised Walter sorrowfully, as concerned for the older man's condition as he was for his friend's sanity. He'd been the first one to figure out that Mulder had a thing for his boss, and had only been slightly surprised when they got together. He'd figured Skinner to be too uptight for an office romance, never mind one with a younger man, but now that he'd seen them together, he knew that Mulder and Skinner were meant for each other, and that their strengths and weaknesses worked so well together that it would be devastating for either man to lose the other at this point. Especially for Mulder, for whom abandonment issues were more than just a topic on the John Bradshaw show.

And he didn't want Mulder asking for his porn collection back.

"Hey, big guy," he whispered. "Come on back to us. To Mulder."

***

Mulder came tearing out of the room so fast that Langly didn't stand a chance. The three cups of coffee he was balancing precariously in his hands wound up on the floor as Mulder pushed past him without a word.

"Hey!" He brushed ineffectually at the hot coffee that had sprayed across his "Ben Folds Five" shirt, and watched as Mulder went from a quick walk to a trot to a dead run before he'd even turned the corner. He looked down at the rest of the coffee pooling around his beat up sneakers, and kicked one of the paper cups viciously.

"Shit!"

***

Scully looked up at the sound of running footsteps to see Mulder sprinting towards her, and she mentally steeled herself for the upcoming ugly confrontation.

"They got him?" he demanded breathlessly of her, ignoring Byers and grasping her tightly by the upper arms, his fingers digging unintentionally cruelly into her flesh. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Scully just looked pointedly at his hands on her, then into his face, her own gaze expressionless but full of meaning nevertheless, and he abruptly let go of her, chastened, but still demanding. "Well?"

Byers cleared his throat and they both turned to look at him.

"I'll-uh-we'll-that is, I'll get the guys on this-"he held up a blood sample in a small sealed tube. "Right away. We should have something for you in no time." He backed away from them, looking embarrassed and uncomfortable and slightly ill-par for the course for John Byers, whenever confronted with extreme personalities of any sort. And Fox Mulder and Dana Scully were about as extreme as ever at this moment.

"Scully..." Mulder forced her attention away from Byers and back on him. Scully took his arm and started leading him away from the room she and John had been standing outside of. A little further down the hall were a couple of uncomfortable-looking chairs, and she pushed him into one. He immediately jumped back up to his feet, not surprising her in the least, and she slammed him back down, reminding him of exactly how she managed to ace all the physical requirement tests at Quantico.

"Mulder." She crouched down in front of him and took both his hands in hers. "Listen to me."

"I'm listening." His tone was as cold as his hands, but Scully refused to borrow guilt. Not when there were so many other pressing issues.

"You didn't give me a chance to tell you," she began, and he knew she was right, just as he knew his anger was unfounded and a convenient tool he was using to keep panic at bay.

"Scully, just tell me what the hell is going on."

"Walter wasn't the only one injured. Special Agent Payne is dead, as is A.D. Maslin, and Kersh's assistant. Kim Cooke-"

"Kim was injured too?" he interrupted, feeling a fresh pain in his heart. Kimberly Cooke was Walter's personal assistant, and had been for many years now. She had also been one of the first people privy to his and Walter's relationship-he never did figure out how she'd known. He only knew that she was fiercely loyal to Walter, and had kept their secret, as well as scheduled who knew how many meetings, interviews and conferences for them both to help them meet up whenever possible. She had been as good a friend to them both as Scully, and the thought that she might be dead or dying right along side her boss...

"Mulder, Kim Cooke did the shooting."

Mulder turned a frankly disbelieving eye on her.

"No. I refuse to believe that. Kim wouldn't have-she couldn't-she..." He wound down like a broken toy under Scully's unflinching gaze.

"We have witnesses, Mulder, video footage, the works. There's no doubt..." Her words trailed off, and she suddenly looked away from him, at their clasped hands, and squeezed them tightly.

"I don't understand, Scully. Kim adored Walter. She was so protective of him-of us..." his voice dropped to a whisper. "Why would she do this?"

Scully sighed, causing Mulder to give her a sharp look.

"Is she here? Is that why you had Byers down here?"

She nodded, looking into his face, then away again.

"There's something you're not telling me. What is it?"

"Mulder, we are going to get to the bottom of this-I'm sure there must be a logical explanation for-"

"Dammit, Scully, just tell me!" he demanded harshly.

"Kim walked into the middle of a financial meeting in Walter's office this afternoon and emptied the clip of a 9mm Sig Sauer P228 into the room and most of the people there. Her prime target seemed to be Walter himself, the other deaths and injuries came about as people tried to detain her or protect him. Security got there as the last round was fired, and arrested her. She was standing above Walter repeatedly firing the empty gun at him and muttering..."

"What did she say, Scully?" The scene as described by his partner in her most analytical tone left him sick with horror, but he had to know.

"According to security, she said "death to fags.""

 

* * *

 

You or Somebody Like You Chapter 2: Long Day  
By Goddess Michele ()  
Rating: NC17  
Fandom: X-Files  
Pairing: M/Sk  
Date: February 12, 2001  
Beta: none  
Spoilers: Fight The Future, various eps, it's all about canon for me...sort of.  
Disclaimer: C.C., Fox and 1013 own them, I'm just borrowing them for fun, not profit, and I promise to return them only slightly bruised, but in that good 'thank you sir and may I have another?' way.  
Archive: put it wherever you like, just leave my name on it.  
Feedback: Yes, PLEASE!  
Summary: Writer's torture rule #24: End chapter 1 with a cliff hanger, then give 'em a flashback in chapter 2, all the while striving for plot, continuity and consistency, (a.k.a. how to solve a government conspiracy and find true love at the same time.) Thanks for all the feedback, gentle readers, and you know who you are. Without you it would be impossible...

* * *

"I'm sorry 'bout the attitude  
I need to give when I'm with you  
But no one else would take this shit from me  
And I'm so terrified of no one else but me..."  
-Matchbox 20, "Long Day"

18 MONTHS EARLIER

"...I'm the key figure in an ongoing government conspiracy..."

The bartender looked up past the patrons she was currently serving at the familiar voice and even more familiar words. She saw that the man sitting slightly hunched over the bar was talking to her bus person, who must have inadvertently made the same mistake she'd made the first time she'd seen the man, and asked him what he did.

"...I'm an annoyance to my superiors, a joke to my peers. They call me Spooky..."

She couldn't help but grin as she dispensed beers to the men in line in front of her and took their money, and she made a few tips from the fellows who thought the smile was for them. When the last man had taken away his alcoholic comfort in a bottle, she decided to rescue the busser, who was now trying unsuccessfully to wrench away the glass the man at the bar was holding.

"...You know, one is the loneliest number..." the bartender heard as she approached the other two men.

"I'll take care of this, Jason, why don't you check the washrooms, then see if you can scare up a few more ashtrays."

The busser abruptly let go of the glass, which was conveniently empty enough to leave just a medium sized stain as it tumbled out of Fox Mulder's hands and down his shirtfront. The busser looked horrified at what he'd just done, but the bartender waved him away, and Mulder himself didn't seem to notice.

"Hey, Spooky," said the bartender as she discreetly shoved the empty glasses in front of Mulder into a bus pan beneath the bar, at the same time noticing with some alarm the greatly lowered level of the bottle of Jack Daniels in the liquor well next to it. She knew he'd been here when she arrived for her shift, but now she wondered just how long he'd been there.

"Hey," Mulder responded blearily.

"I heard you giving Jason you're usual song and dance routine. You got nothing new for your adoring public this week?" She teased him with a smile that failed to register on him at all, although he seemed to be weighing her words carefully. Of course, she thought, all that concentration might be just for staying upright, tonight. For a moment she wondered who this infrequent if predictable customer was, and just what his real story might be. He wasn't a bad looking fellow, dressed nicely, didn't smell like cheese. She thought that maybe-

"I'm in love with my boss," he interrupted her train of thought. Or more like derailed it. She'd heard his 'men-in-black-E.T.-phone-your-congressman-it's-all-about-me' spiel on more than one occasion, but she didn't think she'd heard this part of the speech. She scrutinized his miserable face carefully.

"You ever drink Jack Daniels before?" she asked.

"At first I thought it was just physical, you know, the bees and the bees and the monkey babies, but I really think I'm in love." At this he looked even more dejected. Then he noticed for the first time the empty rocks glass in his lap. He picked it up with the exaggerated care of the very intoxicated, set it heavily on the bar, righted it when it tipped over and pointed at it.

"Have you told her?" asked the bartender, ignoring his silent request for another drink.

This question seemed to stump him, and he stared at her in confusion and drunken dismay, as though the thought had never occurred to him.

"Well, then, I can see you have a lot on your mind tonight, Spooky, so why don't I call you a cab, and you can go home and decide what to do."

Mulder looked down at the empty glass, then looked up forlornly at her. She pursed her lips in a no-nonsense frown that always seemed to work with him, and it worked again. He sighed and reached into his back pocket for his wallet.

The bartender had time to call the cab and serve a few more customers at the other end of the bar before Mulder was able to extract the money to pay his tab. He threw several bills on the bar, hoped it was enough, then slid gracelessly off the bar stool and more or less on to his feet.

"Need a hand?" The young busser was back, looking anxious to make up for spilling the last of Mulder's drinks on him, but Mulder waved him away, conveniently snagging his hand on the coat across the back of the bar stool, or he might have forgotten it completely. Not bothering to put it on, he staggered slightly, corrected himself and headed for the exit.

The cab was pulling up to the curb just as he got outside, and he gracelessly fell into the back seat.

"Where to?" the cabdriver mentally steeled himself as the redolent odor of fermented corn rolled off the man in the back seat, who looked like he was having trouble enough just sitting, let alone remembering where he lived. But the man's voice was clear, if quiet, when he announced "Alexandria, please." The cabbie smiled at the thought of a larger than usual fare. He pulled the cab away from the curb abruptly, tossing Mulder over on his side, where he debated staying for a moment. Then the words of the bartender came back to him:

'Have you told her?'

He sat up so quickly it made his head swim, and only then did he realize just how long he'd been at the bar, just how much he'd been drinking. He thought some fresh air might help, but the window handle seemed to be just too far away, and so he opted for a deep breath, which helped not at all, and addressed the cab driver.

"No."

"No, what?"

"Take me to Crystal City...Crystal City." As if some unseen weight had suddenly been lifted from him, Mulder flopped back on the seat and shut his eyes, while the cabdriver just rolled his, thinking he should have seen this coming.

***

"Hey, buddy, wake up." The cabdriver gave Mulder a none-too-gentle shove, rousing him from the drunken semi-doze he'd fallen into just after giving the man the apartment name and number that he wanted. Now he tried to shake off the dizziness, wondered what the hell he was doing, and if he shouldn't just tell the driver to take him home now, maybe sleep all the way there...

The cab driver didn't care about any of it. "I got calls waiting, man, so let's get a move on, whaddya say?"

Mulder tried to focus on the fare amount displayed on the dash, closing one eye to do so. This simply took away his depth perception without clearing the fuzziness from his vision at all, so he simply shrugged, pulled the remaining few bills from his wallet and threw them in the general direction of the front seat, hoping it was enough.

Without waiting long enough for the cabbie to count the money, Mulder pulled himself out of the cab, stumbled over the curb, tripped onto the sidewalk and fell sprawling onto the neatly tended lawn outside the modern glass and steel high rise apartments he had gotten the cab to take him to. Grass had never felt so soft to him in his life, and he really thought he should just sleep where he lay. Then with a sudden resolve, albeit not a sober one, and a great deal of effort, he hauled himself to his feet and shambled across the lawn to the front door.

***

Walter Skinner looked up from the sheaf of papers on his desk at the sound of a knock at his door. Glancing briefly at his watch, he wondered who was paying him a visit at midnight, then decided there was only one way to find out. Always a cautious man, he picked up his gun off the small table just to the right of the door before looking out the spyhole to see who had come calling at such an unreasonable hour.

He sighed at the familiar face wearing an unfamiliar grin, thinking 'I should have known', and opened the door to let Agent Mulder in.

"Agent Mulder, do you know what time it is?" he demanded.

"Yes, sir, I do! It's-uh-" The grin faded into uncertainty as Mulder stepped carefully into the room, then stood, weaving slightly, in front of his boss. "It's-" He glanced around quickly, found not a clock in sight. "Oh, hell, sir, no-no I don't. It must be late."

"It is. Mulder have you been drinking?" Walter asked suspiciously, seeming to notice for the first time Mulder's disheveled state, including rumpled hair, even more rumpled shirt and pants, tie askew, jacket clutched in one hand, grass stains on his knees.

"I-I'm not so very drunk...sir." Even as he protested, Mulder swayed forward, his center of gravity suddenly dancing just in front of his nose, and Walter put out a hand to steady him. He realized he was still holding his gun, and he moved back to set it aside.

Walter's sudden movements, first holding him up, then pulling away, disoriented Mulder even more so than he was already, and the balance he had almost regained totally left him. Arms pinwheeling madly, he fell forward, knowing that he was going to hit the floor, and that when he did, it was going to hurt.

All this went through his mind in a fraction of a second, but just as he had resigned himself to knocking himself unconscious on his boss's floor, said boss caught him up in two strong arms and steadied him easily, holding him tightly until he had his balance back under some semblance of control. He opened his mouth to say 'thank you, sir', and to say 'I'm sorry I'm such a bother', and to say 'I realize this is a most inopportune time and I'll reschedule at your convenience', and what came out was a hiccup and an almost ashamed little giggle.

Walter was at a loss. He'd never seen Fox Mulder drunk. He'd seen him passionate to the point of irrationality on some things, but he'd never seen him out of control. And, good god! He'd NEVER seen Fox Mulder giggle!

He was suddenly aware that he was still holding Mulder in his arms, hands splayed out across his back, even though Mulder seemed to be standing just fine on his own. Mulder didn't seem to mind. With an absolute lack of clinical detachment, Walter also noticed that Mulder seemed to be holding him back, and not just to keep his balance. At some point while Walter's arms had gone around Mulder's shoulders to steady him, Mulder's hands had snaked around his waist and were firmly pressed to his sides, so that the embrace was a loose one, with some room between them, but was still an embrace in the technical sense.

Immediately Walter wondered if he was the only one playing 'don't ask, don't tell' in the office, then remembered that Mulder was drunk.

Mulder hiccuped again, and felt something nasty rumble in his stomach.

"Sir." The word came out slurry and indistinct. "I-uh-that is-I came here to-to tell you..." He seemed to lose the rest of the sentence, and his brow furrowed, and he stepped back, putting one hand to his stomach. Walter let him go, appraising him with more caution than alarm.

"What is it, Agent Mulder?" He recognized not just his own tone of voice from a million office meetings, but Mulder's sudden defensive posture and almost pout from the same meetings, and he tried again in a gentler tone of voice.

"It must have been pretty important that it couldn't wait for a cold shower and a cup of coffee."

The next words out of Mulder's mouth made no sense at all, and Walter realized that his agent had temporarily lost control of the English language. He was not unfamiliar with this condition.

"Do you want to try that again, Mulder. I don't think I got it. You were going to tell me...?" He let the question hang in the air, waiting for Mulder to finish it. Mulder stared at him stupidly, one hand still held to his body, the other coming up to touch his brow. He closed his eyes briefly, then re-opened them and his mouth at the same time. Nothing came out for a moment, then, very slowly, he said,

"Sir...I-that is...the bartender...she rec-recommends-recommended...I...tell...oh...oh, sir-"

"Mulder?"

Special Agent Fox 'Spooky' Mulder, Oxford educated psychologist, top criminal profiler, head of his division, writer of serial-killer-catching monographs, righter of wrongs (actual and perceived) and defender of 'the truth', promptly tipped his head and vomited down the front of his shirt.

"Oh, hell!" Without thinking, Walter scooped the other man up in his arms and hustled him into the bathroom, glad that Mulder was as light as he was while at the same time cursing the man's height and the current gangly state of his limbs. He dumped Mulder unceremoniously onto the tile floor, then lifted his head so that his face was over the toilet. He stepped back to get a cloth from beside the sink, and Mulder's head promptly hit the toilet seat with a muffled thud and he retched again.

Walter ran cold water over a washcloth, then knelt beside the violently ill younger man. With uncharacteristic gentleness, Walter held Mulder's head, brushed back sweat soaked hair and pressed the cool cloth to the back of his neck. Soothing words came to his lips unbidden, but he felt no shame in them.

There being nothing in his stomach but a few sunflower seeds and a great quantity of Jack Daniels, Mulder was soon reduced to dry heaves and sniffles. His focus seemed to be narrowed to the taste of reused alcohol and the smell of same, but as he began to feel some control coming back, he became aware of his boss; aware of the man's strong presence behind him, aware of his hands doing things to his hair, his face, his neck-things that felt oh so right and so terribly frightening at the same time.

At long last, Mulder found the strength in his arms to push himself away from the toilet with a curse and a mutter, and Walter helped him sit up, still holding him. He made sure Mulder was not going to fall over and crack open his skull or anything, then stood, ordered "Don't move." And left the room.

'As if I could' thought Mulder.

Walter returned in short order, carrying a pair of sweats and a black tee shirt. Mulder just looked at him, eyes slightly unfocused.

Without preamble, Walter reached for Mulder's tie, pulled it over his head without untying it, and threw it on the floor. The shirt came open with a yank as he decided to forego unbuttoning the soiled garment and he found that Mulder was moving a little now, helping him get the shirt off his arms. He gently tugged the drunken man to his feet, tossed the cloth in the sink, and reached for his belt.

Mulder's hands closed over his, and they regarded each other solemnly, dark eyes behind wirerim glasses warm, non threatening, non judgmental, facing hazel eyes half-lidded with fatigue and worry and drunkenness.

Mulder abruptly pulled his hands away.

Walter finished undressing him quickly and efficiently, helped him step shivering into a hot shower, gave him time to wash up while he set aside the salvageable garments and pitched the others, then pulled him out of the tub and dried him briskly with a large thick bath sheet. Mulder kept his eyes closed, and Walter focused on the task at hand, willing himself not to notice things like long muscular legs, firm abdominal and pectoral muscles, or graceful curves of neck and shoulders; it almost worked.

He guided Mulder into the sweats, helped him pull the t-shirt over his head, and steadied him at the sink while he brushed his teeth with Walter's spare toothbrush.

Mulder was pleased to have the excess alcohol out of his stomach, and less than pleased with the amount still coursing through his blood. He still felt dizzy, though less nautious, and he knew it would be a long night. When he had drank like this in the past, he usually managed to get a hold of Scully, convince her of food poisoning (she still wouldn't eat calamari, thanks to him), and get her to cover for him while he spent most of the night and next day alternating between sickness and unconsciousness, with no one the wiser.

But instead, he had perhaps done the stupidest thing ever in a long and spectacular career of stupid things, and he had no idea how to explain himself, didn't even know where to begin. He realized Walter was leading him up a flight of stairs, and he allowed himself to be led, grateful that his boss wasn't talking.

He balked at the doorway of the bedroom, but a look from Walter got him moving again, and in short order he was being slipped between cool sheets with a plump feather pillow under his head.

Walter left the room, then returned with a glass of water. He sat down next to Mulder on the bed and helped him raise his head, holding the glass to his lips. The cold water tasted exquisite, and Mulder tried to gulp greedily, but Walter pulled it away.

"Slowly, Mulder, you have to take it slow and easy."

"That's what I have been doing-hasn't worked."

Walter frowned at the apparent non sequitur, then offered Mulder another sip of water, then set the glass on the nightstand.

"Get some sleep, Mulder."

"I-sir-I-"

"I know. Just let it go for now." Walter stood up, waffled indecisively for the briefest of moments, and then brushed his fingers across Mulder's brow, smoothing back damp hair. Again the two men's eyes met, and locked, and volumes were spoken wordlessly between them. Walter backed away, then turned towards the door.

At the doorway he was frozen by Mulder's voice, sounding small and tired, but sure nevertheless.

"Walter. I love you."

Walter didn't turn around, didn't reply, but couldn't keep a broad smile from creasing his face as he descended the stairs, thinking he would have to call Agent Scully to arrange for Mulder's absence tomorrow (he hoped she wouldn't ask), then call his assistant, Kimberly, and have her reschedule his appointments (he knew she wouldn't ask). He and Mulder had a lot to talk about.

At the bottom of the stairs, he glanced back up, still smiling, and whispered, "I love you, too."

 

* * *

 

Title: You or Somebody Like You Chapter 3: 3 A.M.  
Author: Goddess Michele  
Fandom: X-Files  
Pairing: M/Sk  
Spoilers: Fight The Future, various and sundry eps, nothing specific  
Rating: NC-17  
Beta: none  
Disclaimer: Boring but necessary disclaimer: C.C., Fox and 1013 own them, I'm just borrowing them for fun, not profit, and I promise to return them only slightly bruised, but in that good 'thank you sir and may I have another?' way.  
Feedback:   
Archive: Put it wherever you like, just leave my name on it  
Summary: Still striving for plot, continuity and consistency, but in the present this time. Sorry this took so long-if I was vain I'd say it was worth the wait. And remember, dreams are just answers to questions we haven't asked yet!

* * *

"And she only sleeps when it's raining,  
And she screams and her voice is straining,  
She says, baby,  
It's 3 a.m., I must be lonely,  
When she says, baby,  
Well I can't help but be scared of it all sometimes..."  
-Matchbox 20  
3 A.M

Fox Mulder slumped back tiredly in the hard plastic waiting room chair and closed his eyes, worry for his lover and confusion over the manner in which he had been injured warring for space in his brain. He was still cursing the doctors and nurses, albeit internally now, as opposed to the loud, angry words he had spoken earlier, who had asked him, and not politely either, to leave Walter Skinner's hospital room so that more tests could be performed.

It wasn't right, and it wasn't fair, and Mulder selfishly resented the fact that to the staff, he was just another agent, even if he did seem more concerned about the health of the assistant director than most of the other FBI employees who had shown up here. At the same time, however, he understood their behavior, and knew deep down that they were only trying to do their best for Walter. They didn't know that he was Walter's lover, how could they? He and Walter had been as careful as they knew how. It wasn't just about the Bureau, either, although both of them knew just how easy it would be for the OPR to find excuses for removing them if the nature of their relationship ever came into light, regardless of the new anti-discrimination policies slowly being put into effect in the office. No, the biggest concern for both of them was the organization that for all intensive purposes didn't exist, but which could exact the highest punishments nevertheless. They'd both seen it happen, seen friends and loved ones threatened, hurt and killed, all in the name of secrecy. And they'd both vowed not to let it happen to them.

Which meant Fox Mulder had been forced to carefully conceal the most important feelings he'd ever had, Even now, when Walter could be...the closet had never felt so small, and yet, the door was opening, and in a way he never could have expected.

Scully had flat out refused to let him see Kim Cooke. Apparently, she was in five point restraints, still hysterical and screaming death threats. That's all he got out of his partner before she demanded that he go back to Walter's room.

"You're too close to this, Mulder. The guys are on it, and I'll talk to her doctor. Walter's, too. Go back and see Walter. Talk to him. They say that hearing is seldom impaired in coma situations. He'll probably be able to hear you."

At his protests, she gave him a gentle shove away from the room housing his lover's would-be assassin, promising him she'd get answers for him. He took a couple of steps away from her, then turned back, and, as if reading his mind, she gave him a fierce hug, long and uncomplicated, as only best friends can, then pulled away and kissed him gently on the cheek.

"We'll get to the bottom of this, Mulder. And Walter will be fine."

He didn't trust himself to answer as her words stirred up new visions of the extent of Skinner's wounds, so he just nodded and walked away.

He had only just sat down next to his lover when the parade of medical staff had entered and tossed him out of the room like a loitering vagrant. After loudly and profanely voicing his protests, which achieved nothing but some angry looks and a threat to call security, he'd simply wandered away down the corridor until he came to the first of several small waiting rooms that littered the halls of the intensive care unit like dead ends in a maze, and he entered it when he determined it was empty.

Now, with nothing more to occupy his mind than a few generic paintings on the walls and a handful of Good Housekeeping magazines on the low table next to his chair, Mulder was able to turn his thoughts back to Walter's assistant, and wonder just what the hell had happened.

Kimberly had known about him and Walter from the start. Just as Mulder had been adamant about telling Scully about their relationship as soon as they discovered it wasn't just a drunken aberration on his part or a mid-life crisis on Walter's, so, too had Walter insisted that Kim Cooke be informed of the situation.

"She can be trusted, Mulder," Walter had said, "and that's damned rare to find in these offices these days, as you well know. We need someone to watch our backs, and I know she'll do that for us, as much as Scully would. She might even be better than Scully, since she's involved in everything that goes on in my office."

Mulder remembered agreeing with Walter, although in the first hot, hungry days of their relationship, if Walter Skinner had suggested dressing in drag, changing their names to Speed and Hoover, and dancing the tango in Kersh's office, he probably would have agreed to that, too.

It turned out to be nothing that spectacular.

"Thank you for telling me, sir," she'd said to Walter, and "Thank you for your trust, Agent Mulder," to him. Then she'd gone back to her desk and picked up her typing where she'd left off when Walter had called her into the inner office so that they could tell her. She didn't mention the relationship again. But she wasn't ignorant of it, nor was she hostile towards it. She seemed to approve, almost, and she showed it in a myriad of subtle yet insistent ways that made Mulder curious on more than one occasion about the feelings she may have harbored for her boss.

Mulder often found himself scheduled for meetings with the A.D. that had little more to do with the bureau other than the fact that they were held in his office, and that were greeted with nothing but a mysterious smile when Walter would inquire of her exactly when he had scheduled said meetings, since he himself had no recollection of doing so. She would hold phone calls, keep other agents waiting in the outer office and send in take-out lunches for two, all without being asked. Sometimes she'd call Mulder down in the basement and, without identifying herself, or explaining how she came to the conclusions she did, she would suggest that Mulder take the time to buy a bouquet of flowers, a box of candy, or maybe rent a new release video that he'd never even heard of. Mulder came to understand that Kim was in constant contact with her boss, his lover, and that she was even better at reading his changing feelings than he himself was. He was jealous for a moment, but a moment was all he allowed himself, thinking about the relationship he had with Scully, and how tolerant Walter was of it.

Of course it didn't hurt that whenever Kim suggested one of these little gifts, she was proven right every time, as Walter enthusiastically thanked him for each of them. (Point of fact, he'd been so enthusiastic in his thanks once that the resulting ache had made it impossible for Mulder to sit properly for two days)

The tiniest of smiles flitted across Mulder's features at the memory, the first since Scully's phone call. An instant later it was gone, and he put a hand to his temples, trying to massage away the headache he could feel wanting to make it's home there while simultaneously wondering what was happening back at the bureau.

Obviously, Kim Cooke had been quite out of her mind when she went on her shooting spree. But, according to Scully, anyway, there'd been something of the truth there in her homophobic announcement at the end of her crazed gun-toting charade. So, the question now was how many people had heard her call Walter Skinner a fag, and how many people were going to be inclined to believe it.

He didn't think many of them would. It wasn't like Kim had outed him. He had a nasty reputation with most of his peers and supervisors anyway, and he didn't think that many of them would balk at the addition of another lousy nickname to the list: Crazy Mulder, Spooky Mulder, Fairy Mulder...

He didn't think anyone had ever called Walter Skinner a fairy. If there was anyone in the bureau that Mulder never could have guessed about, it was Walter. Surly, butch Walter S. Skinner, with his ex-wife, past military career and penchance for dead hookers, was, for all appearances, about as gay as a Republican Wives prayer meeting.

So, maybe the truth wasn't out there, as it were, just yet. Maybe Kim's rant would be mistaken for just more crazy talk from the crazy woman with the gun, and no one would be any the wiser.

Mulder didn't know how he felt about that.

He sighed loudly, blowing out stale hospital air, and shut his eyes, wondering if the doctors were finished with their tests, wondering if Scully had any news, wondering if the Gunmen had come up with anything. He found his mind going around in circles, and he thought he would probably be able to think more clearly with a cup or two of coffee in him. He thought he should probably head down to the cafeteria and get something, and fell asleep still trying to convince his legs to move.

***

He opened his eyes, wakened by the sound of his mother crying. That couldn't be right, though. His mother wasn't here. He hadn't called her about Walter...

The room was dark, and at first he couldn't get his bearings. He sat up and realized he was curled up in the black leather recliner that had been his father's favourite chair. He could still hear his mother's voice, coming from somewhere behind him, words forming through the tears, but sounding faded and far away.

"...how can you say that...he's your...blame...how do you know that? Was it him? Let him...No...please..."

For some reason, the words made Mulder want to curl up in the chair and disappear. He felt like a child about to be punished, and he looked down at himself, sure that he would see a boy's body, and surprised to see he was still himself, still in the rumpled shirt and pants he'd been wearing at the hospital-

The hospital. He was confused, but one thing was certain. Wherever he was, whatever was happening, he had to get back to Walter. He jumped up from the chair and immediately fell to the floor, his body feeling heavy and sluggish. He couldn't understand what was happening.

Looking up, he discovered his mother and father staring down at him, his mother's face tear-stained, his father's grim and scowling.

"What-what is it? M-mom? Dad?" He winced as he heard the tremor in his voice, recognizing it for the fear that it was, and despising it for the weakness it made him feel. He struggled to get to his feet, failed miserably, and his father leaned in closer.

"What did you do, Fox? Answer me!" Bill Mulder demanded in a harsh tone.

"I-I don't understand. You can't be here. Where am I?" The copper taste of fear was strong in his mouth, and he thought he smelled cigarette smoke.

Without warning, his father's hand snaked out from behind him and dealt him a vicious slap across the top of his head that rocked him. He tried to bring his hands up defensively, but none of his limbs seemed to be responding to the frantic signals from his brain, and the second blow came across his cheek, branding hot pain into his face and making his eyes water.

"Be a man, Fox, for god's sake!"

"Dad, no!" Again he was awash with full body memory, thinking he was 12 again, his sister recently missing, maybe dead, and it was entirely his fault.

"Let him alone, you bastard!" His mother's scream dragged his attention away from his father, and he saw his mother, as she had been all those years ago, young and beautiful and now so awash with pain that he cried out for her.

"Mom!"

The sound of glass breaking, and suddenly his arms were free and he threw them up to shield his face, but when he felt nothing like shards on his skin, he brought them down and saw his mother staring horrified at the cracks that had appeared all over her, holding cracked hands up to her cracked face. Then, with a wail of anguish, the pieces fell apart, and his mother crashed into a million tiny bugs onto the floor, where they skittered away into the dark corners of the room.

"Look what you've done, Fox. How could you?"

Crying now, and looking up at his father, who was shaking his head as if he couldn't quite rectify the picture of the man lying on the floor with the son he thought he was raising.

"I don't know what you're talking about!" Mulder shouted.

"I think you do-you and that-that-" The first cracks appeared in Bill Mulder's face.

"No!" father and son cried in unison, and then his father was gone, too, and more bugs fell, not just on the floor, but on him, in his hair, on his arms, on his upturned face. He brushed at himself furiously, feeling like he might vomit, and when he looked up, he was facing a trio of familiar faces.

"Mulder, don't let this happen," Scully said in a clear voice.

"Fox, it's happening again." Walter held a hand out to him.

"Please help me, Agent Mulder.Help me...Please...Please... Pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease-" Kimberly's voice rose higher and higher until she was reduced to a mindless shriek that made Mulder clap his hands over his ears to drown it out.

Three shotgun blasts in quick succession made him cry out in terror, and the three people in front of him disappeared with a flash of light. The smell of smoke was heavier, and for a moment Mulder thought the room might be on fire. He forced himself up onto his knees, then to his feet, where he swayed drunkenly, trying to determine if he would be able to get out of this place. Smoke was filling the room, and from it's swirling grey depths, Alex Krycek stepped forward.

"You!"

"It's always me, Mulder. Always was, always will be. You know that. There's no aliens, no conspiracy, no patsies here. It's me, just another part of the machinery that makes this country great."

Mulder didn't even notice that Alex was holding the shotgun by the barrel until it was swooping down on him and the stock connected with the side of his head, driving him back to his knees and making him see stars.

"Just taking care of my business, Mulder. And yours."

And he hit him again.

Consciousness held onto by the thinnest of threads, Mulder was dimly aware of blood trickling down the side of his face, and he thought one more blow might just kill him.

"Everybody knows what you are, Mulder. But not everybody cares."

Mulder cringed and put his hands up, trying to protect himself as Krycek brought the gun up for one last time...

***

"Mulder? Mulder it's me, Scully. Wake up." Scully touched her partner briefly and carefully on the arm, mindful of his re-occurring nightmares and the shock with which he awoke from them. This time was no exception, as his eyes suddenly opened wide, and she backed away to avoid being hit by him as his hands came up in a defensive posture.

"Hey, it's okay, Mulder, it was just a dream."

"Oh! Oh, god! Scully. Oh, hell." He scrubbed his hands across his face, closed his eyes for a moment, then suddenly jumped up and said. "Walter! Is he-I have to-"

Scully steadied him with a look, then touched him again gently, knowing he was still half-dreaming, and trying to ease him carefully into the here and now.

"There's no change, Mulder. You haven't been asleep long. Good thing you picked someplace close to crash-it's a big hospital, you know." She offered him a small smile, but he wasn't ready to be soothed.

"I need to talk to her, Scully." He said in a tone that brooked no argument. "I really do. I think-" He put a hand to his head then pulled it away quickly. "I think I know where to start."

"Mulder-"

"I have to do this, Scully. I need you to trust me."

"You know I do, Mulder, but it's like I said, you're too close-"

"No, I'm not close enough. Not yet. But I think I know how to get there." He took two steps away from her, towards the door, then turned and gave her a look of combined determination and helplessness.

"Are you coming with me?"

"Of course."

Scully took Mulder's proffered hand, and together they left the waiting room.

 

* * *

 

You or Somebody Like You Chapter 4: Push  
Author: Goddess Michele  
Rating: NC17  
Fandom: X-Files  
Pairing: M/Sk  
Spoilers: various and sundry eps, nothing specific  
Date: February 22, 2001  
Beta: none  
Disclaimer: C.C., Fox and 1013 own them, I'm just borrowing them for fun, not profit, and I promise to return them only slightly bruised, but in that good 'thank you sir and may I have another?' way.  
Archive: put it wherever you like, just leave my name on it  
Feedback: Yes, PLEASE!   
Summary: Another flashback, folks. Get used to 'em. And if you have any beta-type thoughts with regard to canon for this chapter, or hell, if you find a typo or two, be sure and let me know...Sorry it's late, I didn't realize when I was trying to turn them over that Walter would be so heavy.  
Special thanks to L.S. who has been there since the beginning...Ice, ice, baby...

* * *

"She said I don't know why you ever would lie to me  
Like I'm a little untrusting  
When I think that the truth is gonna hurt ya..."  
-Matchbox 20  
Push

12 MONTHS AGO

It was supposed to have been a celebration of sorts. Three weeks since Walter Skinner had technically died in a hospital bed in Georgetown, and now he was alive, and his doctors were calling it a miracle.

Fox Mulder didn't know from miracles, he only knew that, as he looked across his dining room table at his lover, the thought of Walter Skinner not being in his life was enough to make him lose his appetite.

Not that he had much of one tonight. He'd ordered in Thai food, and bought Walter's favorite wine to go with the meal. It was their first night alone together since Walter had been poisoned, and Mulder wanted everything to be perfect. So far, nothing was.

It had started this morning, when Mulder had received the pictures of Walter's assailant from the photo lab. No amount of fake hair could have disguised the man once Mulder had a chance to study the face carefully. And once he knew, he couldn't unknow, as much as he may have wanted to. And suddenly, still staring at those cruel, handsome features, Mulder understood what had happened, and why.

He had told Walter about Krycek during one of their first nights together, when they were still finding their way around their new relationship, and wanting to know all about one another past the information each of them had garnered about the other from work. Mulder wasn't ashamed of the affair, just glad that it had been brief, and a little sad that the man had turned out to be a traitor. Walter didn't hold it against him either, as he had thought he might. He'd displayed gentle interest in the story, then proceeded to physically drive all thoughts of the Russian rat right out of him.

Mulder wanted to pursue the case immediately. Even though it technically didn't fall into his division, and even though the whole S.R.819 fiasco had been effectively terminated, the fact remained that someone had tried to kill Walter, and he knew who that someone was. And he just might be able to find him. All Walter had to do was give him the okay.

Walter refused.

Mulder was stunned. He couldn't understand why Walter wouldn't let him do this for him. It seemed so simple. But all the doors were shut before he could even begin. Walter refused to identify his would-be-murderer. He refused to reopen the case, or begin a new investigation. And he flat out told Mulder to forget about it.

Furious, Mulder had turned to leave the office with Scully, when Walter called him back. Scully gave him a concerned yet understanding look and left without him. A moment later, Kimberly stuck her head in, said "I'll hold your calls," to Walter, and quietly shut the door.

Immediately, Mulder began demanding to know why Walter wouldn't allow him to follow up on the case, why he wouldn't want to see the man who had killed him brought to justice, why he was lying about recognizing the man.

Walter came around the desk in one smooth motion, took Mulder into his arms and cut off his words with a kiss so thorough and consuming that Mulder was left dazed and breathless when Walter pulled his mouth off of his. Still holding the younger man tightly, he nuzzled his hair, then whispered in his ear, his warm breath making Mulder shiver.

"Let it go, Fox. Please."

Walter stepped away, gave Mulder a look that was filled with both demand and desire, then turned back to the desk. With his back to his lover, he said quietly, "Supper's at 8, right?"

"I..." Mulder was still breathing hard, and confusion had been added to the emotions he was feeling, which didn't help matters a bit. He stared at Walter's broad back, and wanted nothing more in that moment than to press himself to it. He stepped forward, and Walter returned to his chair. Mulder stopped, and their eyes locked, saying more than all their words could.

"Eight, yeah," Mulder finally said in a voice barely above a whisper. "That's not too late, is it?"

"It's perfect. Now go on. Scully probably thinks the worst." Walter gave him a lopsided grin that looked more sad than teasing.

All day, Mulder had fretted over the case like a dog with a bone, unable to drop the matter, unable to pursue it. He was jittery and irritable and even Scully commented on it, which made him snap at her, then apologize guiltily.

"Mulder, can't you just be happy that Walter is alive and well? Why does everything have to be a case file?" she had demanded. "Can't you just accept this and move on?"

"Scully, you said it yourself-these things that were put into him, they're not dead. Just dormant, and they could come back at any time. How can I not use every tool I possess to keep that from happening to him? Or to someone else for that matter?" He gave her a beseeching look.

She nodded her agreement, but added, "It's Walter's life as much as yours, and you have to let him play it the way he needs to, Mulder."

He mulled over her words for the rest of the day, then left early, telling her he had to clean up a little since Walter was coming over for supper.

She smiled and sent him off with a kiss on the cheek and a stern order to "Just do this his way. For him."

Walter had showed up at his apartment a few minutes before 8, a briefcase of files and a bouquet of apologies in the form of roses in his hand. He offered the flowers and another sad smile to his lover, then stepped inside the apartment, commenting, "The place looks great-you dusted this month, didn't you?"

"Ha ha, Walter. You're funny." Mulder took the flowers and tossed them on the small table by the door. Then he took the briefcase and threw it under the same table. Walter started removing his long grey coat, and Mulder helped him.

"You came right from work, didn't you?" It wasn't a question, as it was obvious that he had.

"I had a lot to catch up on today," was the excuse. "And I didn't want to be late." Walter wrapped his arms around Mulder as the younger man reached for his tie, loosening it, making Walter twitch when those elegant fingers brushed over his throat for just a fraction of a second.

Before either man could do anything else, the door buzzer rang, indicating their food had arrived.

"I'll get that," said Mulder, "Why don't you grab the wine. It's in the fridge."

It should have been perfect, Walter thought. The wine was his favorite, the food, too. But where there was formerly relaxed talk between him and Mulder, now there were stilted words and awkward silences. Where there should have been smiles and hearty appetites, there were frowns, and longing looks, and more moving food around than eating it. Their disagreement this morning lay between them like a Krycek shaped wall, and neither man seemed able to move it. Finally, when he thought he would choke if he had to try to force one more bite of food down, Walter tested the wall.

"You're not eating," he observed quietly.

"Neither are you!" Mulder shot back defensively, and with more anger in his voice than he meant. He saw the slow look of hurt come over his lover's face, and he jumped up from his chair, knocking his cutlery to the floor and ignoring it in his haste to move across the room to stand behind Walter and put his arms around him tightly.

"Oh, shit, Walter, I'm sorry. Sometimes I am such an ass."

"That makes two of us then," he replied, standing up to return the embrace. They stood silently for a long moment, chipping away at that invisible wall with simple physical contact. It seemed to be the first thing that had felt right between them all day.

He heard Mulder speaking, the words muffled but audible from where the younger man's face was pressed to his upper chest.

"I just wanted to make tonight nice, y'know. It's been three weeks, and-"

"I hear you, Mulder." Walter tipped his lover's face up so that they were eye to eye. "And I understand. About this morning, I mean. I know you want to do something-to do this, for me. To help-"

"Walter?" Mulder's eyes were wide and miserable. "You know who it was."

"Yes, I do," he admitted reluctantly.

"Then why-"

"Fox, I'm tired. What do you say we turn in early tonight?" He searched Mulder's face anxiously, wanting to put this line of discussion to rest before it could become another argument. He was willing to have disagreements at work-it came with the territory. But he didn't want work here-especially not this work, especially not now. And he would have lied to end the conversation, but the truth of the matter was it had been his first full day back at the office, and he was more tired than he liked to admit.

Mulder became concerned immediately, forgetting the argument they were almost having.

"Dammit, Walter, why didn't you say something?" He sounded more worried than angry.

"I think I just did." He gave him a weak smile, hoping for one in return.

"Go on, then. I'll just clean up here, and-"

"No."

"No?" Mulder gave him a critical eye. It had to be serious if his lover was suggesting not cleaning up before bed, in light of his just slightly anal-retentive tendencies. But Walter was still smiling a little as he reached down to take Mulder's hands in his own, entwining their fingers.

"Nothing on this table is going to start dancing in the middle of the night. It'll all be here tomorrow. Come on. I'll even let you watch MST3K."

He got his smile and a tightening of the hands locked with his own, and the breach was mended.

"Let me at least put the wine in the fridge."

"Bring it."

"Yes, sir!"

They drank the wine, laughed at the movie, and simply enjoyed being together again, at last.

Mulder reclined naked in Walter's arms, head resting on his chest, relishing the security of those strong arms around him and that muscular body supporting him. He sipped his wine and concentrated on the movie, choosing to file away the relief he felt at having his lover whole and well and holding him for analyzing at a later date.

Walter hugged Mulder a little tighter and dropped a kiss on his hair, relishing the feel of his lover's body resting in his arms. It might be cliche to say that his death had made life more dear, but every cliche holds a grain of truth, and he knew that he wanted to live, more than ever, now, and that he wanted to do so with this man.

It was the reason he was ending the investigation into the poisoning. It was why he was refusing to let Mulder pursue the case. He was scared of losing this. Of losing Mulder. Of having to live without feeling this way, with this man, ever again. He finished his wine and set the glass on the nightstand, wishing there was some way to show Mulder how much he meant to him.

The credits rolled, and Mulder raised his now empty glass to the television.

"Now that's entertainment!" he exclaimed.

Walter snorted laughter, then kissed the top of Mulder's head again, loving the silky texture of his hair and the feel of it against his lips.

Then he snatched the remote from Mulder's hand before he could turn off the television.

"Hey!"

"Let me..." Walter hit the mute button instead of the off button, set the remote and his glasses aside, and switched off the bedside lamp. Blue television light cast interesting shadows across his lover's face and body as he took the empty wineglass from him.

"Mood lighting, Walter?" Mulder's voice held a teasing note.

"If you like," he replied, turning Mulder in his arms so that they were face to face.

"I like." Mulder punctuated his words with kisses. "I like a lot." His arms snaked around Walter's neck. " A lot, a lot..." He nipped and licked and prodded at Walter's lips with his tongue, was granted entry, and stopped talking.

Walter allowed himself to be kissed deeply and thoroughly, letting his partner take the lead, enjoying the less active role more than he'd thought he would. He ran his hands through Mulder's hair again and again, thinking he could never get enough of the textures of his lover; the silk of his hair, the moist heat of his mouth, the satin of his skin playing over lean muscle. He reluctantly let up his grip on Mulder's hair when the younger man pulled his mouth away, and Walter was pleased to see flushed excitement in his face, knowing it matched his own.

Mulder took up a wandering tour of Walter's chest with mouth and hands, pinching, biting, sucking, and finding all the right places to make Walter squirm and gasp and groan. After raising Walter's nipples to hard peaks, he continued moving down his body, tasting skin and hair and scars and muscle, utterly absorbed in the pursuit of his lover's pleasure. He licked around his belly and was so delighted with the involuntary giggle he got that he did it again, got the same result, and laughed a little too, cooling kiss-heated skin with his breath and turning Walter's laugh into a soft moan.

More than just Walter's navel was calling out for attention, but Mulder wasn't quite ready to stop his teasing. He tasted the inside of Walter's thighs, spent several minutes kissing his knees, getting more laughter, then licking his way back up to his stomach.

Walter wasn't about to beg, but he shifted his body encouragingly, hoping Mulder would get the point. But his lover seemed determined to drive him crazy tonight, moving around and around his erection, but never letting his mouth touch it. Finally, Walter took hold of Mulder's shoulders and dragged him up his body, pleased to feel an equally hard cock brush against his own. When they were face to face, Walter glared at him with mock seriousness.

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" he growled, but he was smiling, and so was Mulder.

The other man reached down and took him in his hand and Walter gasped at the first contact.

"Aren't you?" Mulder stroked him slowly, expertly. Walter could feel the rough drag of callus across the sensitive underside of his cock, and he thrust forward with a groan.

"You seem to be doing all the work," he murmured when his own hands were batted away from his lover's body.

"I'll get my turn, I'm sure," the words were whispered into his ear, making him shiver. "For now, just lie back and relax and let me do this. For you..."

Abruptly, Walter reached down and stilled Mulder's hand, wrapping his own larger fingers over his lover's. Mulder gave him a confused look, which melted into understanding when Walter reached ineffectually for the nightstand. Mulder reluctantly took his hand away from Walter's and slid away so that he could get into the night table and retrieve a condom and the small bottle of lubricant from the top drawer.

He handed both to Walter, and leaned in next to him to nibble at his ear again and ask softly "How do you want me?"

"I want you." It wasn't an answer. But Mulder didn't have to ask again. Walter pulled him back into his arms and on top of him, kissed his cheek with absolute tenderness, then held his gaze with eyes so dark with desire they were almost black, and deliberately spread his legs, so that Mulder was resting between them.

"Oh. Oh, Walter..." He sounded uncertain, but his body responded with a flush and a furious rush of excitement. He felt Walter press the lube into his hand and some wordless sound escaped him. Walter kissed his other cheek, just as softly as the first, and hugged him tightly, running his hands up and down his back, then bringing them back up to cup his face.

"Fox..." There didn't seem to be anything else to say.

Mulder was nervous and excited and clumsy and awkward and Walter was more aroused than he'd ever been. Mulder had never looked more beautiful to him, and he kept up a litany of breathy affirmations as he felt his lover penetrating him with his fingers, slow and cautious, then quickening when he found the spot he wanted and Walter cried out his pleasure. Mulder twisted his fingers again, and reached for Walter's cock with his other hand. Walter called out his name and bucked into his fist.

Mulder added another finger, and Walter groaned as he was stretched a little further. Mulder paused, waited until he heard more positive sounds from his lover, then turned his hand. Walter thrust his hips back, trying to achieve more contact, and Mulder pulled slowly away from him.

With his heartbeat pounding in his ears, and his body aching for release, Walter sat up just enough that he could reach his lover and roll the condom over his straining erection, thankful for the foresight he'd had to open the damned thing before Mulder's ministrations had taken most of his motor control from him.

Mulder groaned loudly as Walter's hands smoothed the latex over him, and groaned again when his lover lay back and lifted his legs, resting them on his shoulders. Walter looked up at him with something akin to wonder, combined with hot need, and Mulder carefully moved forward.

Walter closed his eyes and hissed through clenched teeth at the sudden pain of entry. His mind marveled for a moment at the feeling, realizing that Fox had been here, exactly here, for him countless times now, and he was glad to be able to offer himself in the same way, and he thought that he was maybe falling in love and he groaned again at another sharp pain. All movement stopped, and he opened his eyes to see Mulder gazing at him with a frightened expression on his face. He hastened to allay his fears.

"S'alright, Fox," he gasped. "Just been a long time-"

"We don't-I-should I stop?"

Walter replied in the most eloquent terms he could think of. He shoved his hips forward, sheathing Mulder completely within his body.

Mulder groaned as he was enveloped, and grasped Walter's hips, more to still his own trembling, although Walter was shaking a little too; whether it was from pain, desire or strain on muscles long unused, Mulder didn't know.

Walter looked up at his lover, whose gaze of stunned incredulity was rapidly giving way to something far more carnal. His eyes were closing now, muscles tensing and flaring throughout his body, and he tipped his head back and whispered Walter's name. The older man reached up and touched the rapid pulse in Mulder's neck.

"Now. Fox. Please."

Trance like at first, Mulder slid back, then forward, then back again, nearly pulling out, then slowly pushing back in, finding a familiar rhythm in this most unfamiliar situation. Walter watched his lover intently, trying to pace himself to Mulder's movements, tensing and flexing muscles he'd forgotten he had, and being rewarded with inarticulate cries of pleasure. He watched the man above him surrender to his desire, and knew he would never see anything so exquisitely unrefined and beautiful ever again.

Mulder pushed on, harder now, getting swept up in his own need, but not so much so that he didn't deliberately twist his movements upwards as well as forward, finding the spot he'd discovered earlier with his hand, and reveling in the cry of purest pleasure from his lover. He found himself speeding up almost against his will, and at the last moment he opened his eyes and found Walter staring at him so intently that it was almost like additional physical stimulation, and he came with a shout, burying himself in Walter's body and quaking with the force of his orgasm.

Walter cried out when Mulder twisted inside him and found the center of his pleasure. The initial pain was a dim and fading memory, and he gave up his body to his lover's actions, focussing solely on pleasuring his young partner, and finding his own pleasure in that. He kept his gaze intently on Mulder, and realized that his own orgasm was approaching without any physical stimulation to his cock whatsoever. He redoubled his efforts, clutching at the bedsheets and shoving his hips up to take as much of his lover as he could. He let his legs slide off of Mulder's shoulders to wrap tightly around his waist just as Mulder thrust one last time into him and stayed there, coming with a shout that Walter heard in his heart as well as his ears. The sensation was exquisite and brought about his own orgasm nearly as loudly. All his senses spiraled into blackness...

When he came back to himself, he was resting in Mulder's arms, and his lover was wearing a scared expression on a sweaty face and calling his name softly.

"Walter? Oh, Jesus, Walter, are you okay?"

He didn't think he was quite ready for verbal communication just yet, so he tried a smile instead, and turned in the other man's arms. He felt a twinge in his backside and knew he'd be sitting on a hip for the next day or two, and didn't mind a bit.

"Did I-god, Walter, did I hurt you?"

The question immediately gave Walter a vision of an awful joke he'd heard once about a mouse and an elephant, and he started to laugh. He tried to control it, but then he'd look into Mulder's confused, worried face, and it would start him snorting and giggling again, and he'd think 'did I hurt you dear?' and then he'd laugh some more.

Mulder held him through what could only be termed hysterics of some sort, rocking him gently, and smiling a little even in the midst of his concern, just because Walter's laughter was something he'd never tire of.

Eventually, Walter swallowed the last of his laughing fit, but kept smiling and whispered, "Yes, Mulder, you did."

"Oh, hell, Walter, I-"

"But if you apologize, I'll have to shoot you."

Now Mulder was laughing, too, and kissing him, and he was kissing him back, and then he was slipping away, feeling warm and sleepy and well used, and not regretting anything.

Mulder held his sleeping lover for a long time, still rocking gently, kissing his forehead periodically, and murmuring so softly that even if Walter had been awake, he might not have heard the words.

"I love you, Walter."

 

* * *

 

You or Somebody Like You Chapter 5: Girl Like That  
Author: Goddess Michele  
Rating: NC17  
Fandom: X-Files  
Pairing: M/Sk  
Spoilers: various and sundry eps, nothing specific  
Date: February 26, 2001  
Beta: none  
Disclaimer: C.C., Fox and 1013 own them, I'm just borrowing them for fun, not profit, and I promise to return them only slightly bruised, but in that good 'thank you sir and may I have another?' way.  
Archive: put it wherever you like, just leave my name on it  
Feedback: Yes, PLEASE!   
Summary: Fox and Kim talk...Fox gets an idea...

* * *

"I put my hands around your shoulders,  
you're saying you're scared is all.  
I think I know too much about you...  
-Matchbox 20  
Girl Like That

Mulder stood outside Kim Cooke's hospital room for a long moment, eyes closed, mentally steeling himself for the confrontation. Scully had walked him to the door, telling him everything she knew about what Kim had done, and what was now being done to her, and for her. Then, after a call on her cel phone had confirmed that some preliminary blood tests had come back, she'd left him at the door with a sharp hug and a promise to check on Walter before she came back.

So now here he was, a million emotions at war within him, trying to decide on the wisest course of action. His nightmare was still vivid in his mind and his fear for Walter was still heavy in his heart, and he opened the door.

The room was dim, almost dark, but he could make out a figure lying on the last of four beds in the room. He switched on the bank of overhead lights immediately, then just as quickly shut half of them off at a cry of pain from Kim. The light diminished considerably, but Mulder was still able to make his way to the far bed, seeing easily enough through the gloom.

He stepped up to the bed and saw that Kim was in four point restraints, bound by ankles and wrists to the bed, and his heart went out to her, remembering a time or two when he had found himself in a similar situation. Her head was turned to the wall, and he wasn't sure if he even knew he was there, so he cleared his throat quietly, and she turned to look at him.

Her red hair was plastered to her skull, and her cheeks were shiny with tears and sweat. Her eyes rolled wetly in their sockets and she bared her teeth at him in a feral grin.

"Kim?" his voice was soft and hesitant. "Can you hear me?"

Her reply was an inarticulate grunt as she tugged at the restraints with wrists that Mulder noted were already badly chafed. He felt an intense desire to untie her, and fought to hold his hands at his side as he leaned a little closer to her and whispered again.

"Kim, it's me. Agent Mulder. Can you speak?"

She spit at him.

He recoiled with a wince and wiped hot spittle from his face with a tissue from the nightstand. Keeping a little more distance between himself and the obviously quite deranged woman on the bed, he tried a different approach.

"Kim, I want to help you, but you have to tell me what's going on with you."

No reply.

"Kim, I thought you and I were friends."

More silence.

"I refuse to believe that you willingly shot Walter. You-"

She cut him off with a shout.

"Shut up! Shut up! Just shut your fucking mouth!" Again she tried to escape her bonds, but to no avail, and again Mulder reacted with a wince and a step back, both at her words and the volume of them.

"Kim, please-"

"You thought I didn't know? You thought you could just get away with it, didn't you? What happened to the Assistant Director was your fault. You made him sick, you know that. I was saving him!"

Mulder was more than a little shocked, but tried to cover it up under the guise of professional interest. Scully's words quickly came back to him: "...you're too close to this, Mulder..." and he knew that she was right, that he was just about as worried for the young woman in front of him as for his lover busy dying in another room not so very far away. He again fought an internal war with himself, wanting to shake the hell out of Kim and maybe do a little shooting himself at the thought of what she had done to Walter, and at the same time untie her, take her in his arms and soothe her.

After several minutes, the psychologist in him won out, and he approached the bed again, warily, but with renewed determination and stray thoughts of Baltimore in his head.

"Kim, you're not making any sense. What did you think you were saving Walter from?"

"It wasn't enough that you were on your knees for half the men in D.C., Agent Mulder? Oh, don't think I don't know what you do, you bastard!"

He wanted to protest this accusation, but all he could do is stare at her in mute horror as she continued.

"You made him like you! I don't know how, I only know that you did-he showed me! And I couldn't let you turn him into some kind of degenerate. Some kind of pervert like you! I saved him from all the sick things you do, and all the sick things you could give him. He should fucking thank me!"

"Oh, Kim..." his voice was low and sad and scared and he didn't think she even heard him.

"I'd do it again if I could. I'd kill you, too. I'd kill all of you. It's what you deserve! What you do is wrong, and evil, and what you did to him..." Her strident tone faded off, and she looked away from him, her breath coming in sobbing gasps, like she'd run a marathon. When she spoke again, she was still facing the wall, and her voice was low and harsh.

"You stupid fucking faggot."

He fled the room.

He knew it was unprofessional. He knew he should be treating this like any other case. He knew he had to get to the bottom of this, and quickly. He knew all this and more in the cold, clinical part of his mind that he used to deal with the John Roches and Donny Pfasters of the world. But he couldn't do it.

This was about Kim, someone he had trusted as a friend, as his lover's friend, a woman he knew to be good and loyal and above all open minded. This was about Walter, the man he was in love with and who loved him back in a way he knew wasn't wrong, or evil, or even, for the most part anyway, dirty. And, finally, this was about him. He was personalizing the case because it was personal, about as personal as anything in his life. He heard her last words again in his head, and sank to the floor outside the room with a half stifled sob, remembering the name calling of childhood, the questioning angst of teenage years, and the final acceptance he'd found in his adult years, a deluge of memories flooding his brain and making his head reel. Added to the already chaotic thoughts about the nightmare he'd just had, and what it might mean, and the shock of his confrontation with Kim, it was altogether too much, and he couldn't move, couldn't think, couldn't do anything but clasp his knees to his chest and cry a little and wonder what the hell had happened to his world. Skewed it might be, but not like this. Never like this...

"Mulder!"

He wiped the back of his hand across his wet eyes and pushed himself slowly back up the wall to a standing position when he heard Scully's voice. She was moving down the hall at a quick pace, holding a file folder in one hand and her cel phone in the other.

"Scully, what have you got?" He tried to keep the tremor out of his voice and failed miserably. Scully gave him a look that told him everything he needed to know about how worried she was for him, and at the same time how annoyed she was that he was trying to work this case.

"Have a look at this." She handed the folder to him and hit one of the speed dial buttons on her phone. While he tried to make sense of the medical data he was looking at, she spoke into the phone.

"Frohike? Scully. Shut off the tape recorder. No, shut it off. What have you guys found? Yes, yes, we got that, too, but-what? Okay, listen, I'm with Mulder, and we'll bring over the information we have here. Yes. Yes, I was just there-no change. Listen, we'll be right there." She hung up the phone, and Mulder gave her a helpless look.

"It's carbon, Mulder. The same carbon we found in Skinner when he was poisoned."

"But Kim isn't showing any of the symptoms that Walter had, Scully. How can it be the same thing?"

She frowned. "I don't know that it is the same thing, Mulder. But it's a place to start. And Frohike says they've got something there, so we need to get this information to them right away. Come on." She touched his arm and pulled the file out of his hands. When he didn't move, she looked into his face, and saw that he was looking not at her, but at some point past her. She recognized that deep thought look from dozens of other cases, and knew he was about to make some leap that at first would sound so ridiculous that she'd want to laugh outright, but that in the end would probably be so close to the mark that it was almost spooky...

She tugged on his sleeve and brought his attention back to her.

"Did she tell you anything?" she asked quietly. He opened his mouth, closed it quickly and shook his head.

"Nothing useful," he replied.

"Let's go." She didn't pursue it, knowing he'd reveal whatever it was in his own time and that she'd be ready to hear it when that time came.

"You go, Scully, and let me know what you and the guys find. I have an idea where this may have come from, who might have done this. I might even know where to find him."

"Really?" She looked skeptical now.

"I think so. I'll have my cel. Keep me posted." And he turned away from her to walk away at a brisk pace. Scully watched him until he disappeared around the corner, looked down at the file in her hand, then spared a last glance at the room housing the woman who had caused this entire thing, and walked back in the direction she had come from, idly wondering if Mulder knew what he was doing, and if this was going to be any help in saving Skinner.

After stopping briefly upstairs to find that there had been no change to his lover's condition, Mulder got in his car and raced home, mind on autopilot. He entered his apartment, looked around guiltily at the mess, then, realizing that this was the least of his problems, sped through the cluttered boxes of the living room and into the bedroom, shedding clothes as he went. He jumped into the hottest shower he could stand, and washed quickly, relishing the way the soap and water seemed to dissolve the nasty hospital smell he fancied still clung to him.

He took extra care dressing, picking out a black t-shirt (not his favorite one-he thought it best to wear something newer) and tight jeans. He left the black trench coat he'd been wearing earlier on the chair where he'd flung it when he came in, and opted for his three quarter length leather coat instead. He also ignored the runners in favour of dark beige construction boots. He surveyed himself in the bathroom mirror, liked what he saw, and left the apartment as quickly as he'd come.

Back in the car, it didn't take him long to get to the warehouse district of downtown Washington. Nestled in between audio equipment outlet stores and a few expensive specialty stores that were doing well despite the dire warnings they'd gotten about setting up in the area, were several empty buildings, loft apartments for lease by the week, month, and year, and a couple of bars.

Mulder parked his car in front of a large neon rainbow flag, shut it off, and took several deep breaths before exiting the vehicle, looking furtively around to see if anyone was nearby to see him or recognize him. Then, with that mental steeling again firmly in place, he pulled open the black door under the sign, backed away a little from the loud music that flowed out of the open door, then entered the club.

To be continued...

 

* * *

 

You or Somebody Like You Chapter 6: Back To Good  
Author: Goddess Michele  
Rating: NC17  
Fandom: X-Files  
Pairing: M/Sk  
Spoilers: various and sundry eps, nothing specific  
Date: February 28, 2001  
Beta: none  
Disclaimer: C.C., Fox and 1013 own them, I'm just borrowing them for fun, not profit, and I promise to return them only slightly bruised, but in that good 'thank you sir and may I have another?' way.  
Archive: put it wherever you like, just leave my name on it  
Feedback: Yes, PLEASE!   
Summary: Even numbered chapter - hey, it must be a flashback...greetings to Myriam, and a wave to Shane, who owns this inspired mess...

* * *

"I couldn't tell if anyone here was feeling the way I do  
But I'm lonely now  
And I don't know how  
To get it back to good."  
-Matchbox 20  
Back to Good

SIX MONTHS AGO:

Dana Scully could hear Fox Mulder talking to his television through the door of the apartment, recognized the words, and knew it didn't bode well.

She knocked and heard him call out "It's open!"

She pushed open the door slowly, noting that the apartment, which was never going to be a bright and airy loft, was gloomier than usual, and her nose wrinkled at the smell of old pizza.

Walking through the foyer, she could make out Mulder's long body stretched out on the couch, illuminated by nothing more than the light of the television.

He sat up as she stepped into the room.

"Hey, Scully. How was your weekend?"

She ignored the question and sat down next to him on the couch.

"Plan Nine from Outer Space?" she inquired archly. He didn't reply, so she continued. "What are we using the Ed Wood Investigative Method for tonight?"

"Crimes of the heart," he answered, completely deadpan.

"Okay..." her reply was doubtful as she searched his profile for clues while he continued to stare at the television. "Do you mind if I turn on a light?"

Without waiting for an answer, she reached over and switched on a small deco lamp sitting on the end table. She managed to bite back the shocked gasp that wanted to escape her, but couldn't help but flinch a little at her partner's haggard features.

She thought he might have looked worse when he'd nearly died in the Arctic, but this was a close second.

He apparently had opted not to shave since she had seen him last on Friday. His hair looked clean, though, so she supposed he'd showered at some point, but it was mussed badly, all cowlicks and corkscrews.

Without thinking, she reached out one hand to smooth it down, but when he turned to face her, the hand froze in mid air and she couldn't help the little 'oh' that escaped her.

His eyes were dark, wet and bruised looking, sunk into sockets shadowed so dark it almost appeared as though he had applied football eyeblack.

Her hand descended slowly from hair level to wrap itself around his wrist, an instinctive doctor's move that she was practically unaware of.

"Mulder, are you sick?"

The laugh that came out of him was harsh, jagged and raw.

"Sick? No! No, although you missed a truly bulemilicious moment after my last attempt at supper." He waved airily at a grease-spotted pizza box sitting on the coffee table, half open, half a slice missing.

"Are you hurt?" Scully couldn't see any marks on his arms or face, and there were no bloodstains on his jeans, although the thin black t-shirt he was wearing had a tear in one shoulder.

"Not the way you think, Scully."

"What happened to you, Mulder?" she demanded.

"Well, that's what Ed Wood and I are trying to figure out." That laugh again, sounding more like a sob, and Scully was seized by an overwhelming urge to hug him. She squeezed his wrist instead and waited to see if he would say anything more. Instead, he turned back to the television, and she did the same, respecting his need for quiet, not pushing him. Yet.

They watched Vampira rise from the grave in silence, then Mulder slipped his arm from her grip and, eyes still intent on the screen, he said flatly,

"It's over, Scully."

At first she thought he was talking about the movie. Her next thought was of work-their work, the X-Files, and she thought that maybe something had happened there that she had missed over the weekend. Finally, though, she realized what he was talking about, and she sighed.

"Mulder, did you break up with Walter?" She had a moment where she realized she sounded like a best girlfriend talking to the head cheerleader about the captain of the high school football team, but she shook off the thought to concentrate on his next words.

"No, he ended it." Same flat tone, betraying nothing, but she felt his body shudder, betraying the lack of emotion in his voice. "Apparently, A.D. Skinner had his itch scratched, and is moving onto the next item on the agenda."

"I don't believe that, Mulder." Her voice bore out her conviction. He turned to her, then, a small look of surprise on his face. She reached for his hand, lacing her small fingers in his large ones, and he accepted the small comfort with a grateful squeeze while he waited for her to continue. "I know what I saw, Mulder. The two of you together-it was-he was-" She struggled to find the words.

She remembered the first time that the three of them had done anything together, after they had told her they were a couple. Just dinner and coffee afterwards, and Scully remembered feeling, not for the first time, jealous. Not of Skinner, although that's probably what most people who knew her and Mulder would think. No, she had watched Walter Skinner watch Fox Mulder, and thought she was looking at a man who had stumbled over a pot of gold by accident, and now couldn't quite believe his good fortune. He had the dazed look of a little boy with the key to the candy store. A million other metaphors came to mind, but Scully had ignored them, sipped her coffee, envied her partner, and simply hoped that she'd find a man to look at her that way someday.

"I don't believe it," she said again.

"This isn't some alien abduction story that it's your job to debunk, Scully." His tone was suddenly harsh, startling her. "This is my life. And I think I know what happened. I was there, y'know."

She knew his angry words for what they were, and didn't judge him for them, or take offense. She just gripped his hand a little tighter and asked. "What did he say?"

He looked back at the television, and she didn't think he was going to answer her. When he finally did, there was a tremor to his voice that she liked less than either the anger or the monotone she'd gotten earlier.

"I knew he had a late meeting on Friday with the Director, so I picked up some take out-y'know, I thought it would be nice. We ate, we talked, inconsequential stuff-"

"Like what?" She didn't know if interrupting him would halt his narrative, but she felt strongly that one or the other of them must have said or done something to make this happen. So she reacted as she would in an investigation, trying to draw information from him subtly, to make sense of this turn of events.

"Just work, mostly. Plans for the weekend. There's a club I wanted to go to-wanted to take him to-we don't go out a whole lot, as you may or may not have surmised." He offered her a small, sad smile.

"And?" He seemed confused by this, so she added, "what was his reaction?"

He shrugged. "I-I don't remember. I think he said he had work to do this weekend, but maybe some other time. We didn't dwell on it, just talked about other things." He frowned a little, and his next words were muttered, more to himself than to her. "Or rather, I talked..."

Scully thought that maybe the combination of Ed Wood and her company was working for her partner just as he always claimed it did. He seemed to be looking inward, finding the incident in his memory, and analyzing it. At least she hoped he was.

"Then what?"

"Then nothing," he replied. "We watched some t.v, sat around, had a beer. Then he told me to get out."

"Just like that?" Her skeptical voice again, earning her a frown.

"Yeah, just like that." He sighed, fell silent, put more pressure on their linked hands.

"Tell me what he said, Mulder." Her voice brooked no argument, and she again saw him groping through memory for the words that had turned him into the hollow-eyed mess that she saw before her.

"Not a whole hell of a lot, Scully," he said, finally. "He looked like he does in the office sometimes, when I can tell just by his posture that he's going to turn down my 302. Like he's angry and unhappy and tense-all at the same time. He just stood there for a moment-I think I made a joke about work. He still looked really unhappy, so I told him to relax-" he paused, then continued with a little flush of colour in his stubbled cheeks. "I'm pretty sure I told him I knew what would take the edge off. And he replied 'I don't think I can do this anymore, Fox.'"

"You let him call you Fox?" She supposed she had known that, maybe even heard Skinner call him that, but it surprised her nevertheless.

"Only in the-only at home." More colour, but it did little to restore a healthy look to his features. It only seemed to make him look feverish and a little more ill. "Anyway, he said that it wasn't working, and that I should be able to see that, and that it was better to end it now then to prolong something that was going to end badly anyway, so what was the point." He thought for a moment more, then: " I'm pretty sure he said that I should go find someone else. Someone who could give me what I want."

She didn't know what to say to that, but it didn't sound right. It didn't sound like what Mulder thought it sounded like, but it didn't sound like Skinner, either.

She heard the tears in his voice before she saw them on his face when he whispered the last: "He's what I want, Scully."

She pulled him into her arms when he started crying in earnest, rocking him and crooning wordlessly, stroking his hair and his back. It wasn't the first time she'd done this, nor did she think it would be the last. Despite his apparent reserve, which many people at first mistook for arrogance, Mulder was a man for whom emotional storms were always brewing close to the surface. He used much of his inner strength holding those emotions down, unless he was alone, or with someone he trusted. And there wasn't anyone he trusted more than Scully. Walter Skinner had been a close second, but now...

Scully held him and comforted him as best she could, and he let himself be comforted. When static hiss from the television drew both their attention, he sat back up and wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand, muttered something vaguely apologetic, and reached for the remote control.

"Why don't I make some tea?" Scully offered. He nodded absently.

It didn't take much time to brew up two cups of tea, and she brought them back to the living room. Mulder was changing channels on the television, sitting hunched forward, hugging a throw pillow. He looked up at her as she resumed her place beside him and handed him one of the steaming cups.

"Thanks."

"Anytime, Mulder. You know that."

They sipped tea in companionable silence, then, once Mulder had settled on the news channel, Scully posed a new question.

"Did you argue with him?"

He chewed on his lower lip for a moment, almost reflective, and his eyes got a little shiny again.

"In a manner of speaking..." his words trailed off.

"Let me guess. You told him that his behaviour was inappropriate, that he was being unreasonable, and that you could decide these things for yourself."

She heard more of a smile in his voice than she saw on his face. "You forgot the part where I called him a selfish, unfeeling bastard."

"Charming."

She blew on her tea to cool it, reflecting briefly on his words, picturing the scene.

"I have a theory, if you'd like to hear it."

He raised a skeptical eyebrow in an eerie imitation of her during some of his more outlandish 'theories', and it almost made her laugh. But he indicated she should continue.

"You said he got real quiet after you mentioned going out to a club. Was it a gay club, Mulder?"

He nodded. "But-"

"Hear me out, Mulder. I think you scared him-"

"I don't scare anybody. And he doesn't scare that easily. He's seeing me, isn't he?" The tea suddenly churned in his stomach and he swallowed the conspicuous lump in his throat. "Was seeing me..."he corrected sadly.

"I'm suggesting that Walter Skinner is not ready to be "out and proud", as they say, and he thinks you are. And he wants you to be happy."

"He has a funny way of showing it."

Scully's hand on his arm diffused the sudden anger, leaving him feeling lonely and tired again, but, at the edge of his awareness, where he was actually paying attention to what she was saying, he felt a glimmer of hope.

"I don't think he was kicking you out so much as he was offering you a way out, Mulder. I think he was just trying to let you off the hook and out of his closet. Does that make sense?"

"I've called him."

The sudden switch in subjects caught her off guard for a moment, but she recovered quickly enough and asked him what happened.

"Nothing. I get his voice mail. He hasn't called back."

He sighed noisily into his cup, and didn't say anymore. Scully kept one hand on him, grounding him in her way, and studied the leaves at the bottom of her cup. Finally, she sighed herself, and grumbled something Mulder didn't quite catch. He asked her to repeat it.

"Men," she muttered to herself, then gave him a piercing look and continued. "You two were so busy trying to be 'the guy', the big macho man, that you didn't even listen to what the other was saying. He was being the tough love guy, you were being the rebel without a clue, and it got you both exactly nowhere."

He digested her words and realized she was right. If what she said about Walter was true, then he had been a jerk for not telling him exactly what was on his mind. And he himself had been an even bigger asshole for not trying harder, for just assuming the worst, as usual, and, instead of trying to rationalize the situation and correct it, he'd settled for gratuitous name-calling. How mature was that?

He cleared his throat, and Scully heard the tears threatening again when he asked, in a small voice, "now what?"

"Now, Mulder, you get some sleep. Frankly, you look like hell."

"Thank you. That makes me feel so much better." Sarcasm dripped from the words.

Scully ran her hand through his hair, brought it down to rest on his cheek, and he leaned into her, closing his eyes briefly.

"Seriously, Mulder. You need to sleep. You need to eat. And then you need to see Walter and get this straightened out-no pun intended."

They both smiled, and Mulder wondered briefly about the power of best friends. He'd just spent two days in a fog of depression, nausea and exhaustion, and with a cup of tea and half an Ed Wood movie, Scully, his best friend, had managed to set his feet on the path again, feeling, if not physically, at least mentally refreshed enough to muster up the reserves and head back into the fray. He thought briefly of her abduction and her illness, and wondered what the hell he would do without her.

Scully watched her best friend win his internal struggle with his emotions, understood the depths of them, maybe even more than he did, and decided that if Mulder couldn't convince Walter Skinner to take him back and make their relationship work, then she would take it upon herself personally to give their boss a good swift kick in the ass. With the highest heels she owned.

She stood and took Mulder's empty cup from him.

"I gotta go. I still haven't unpacked from the weekend. Mom sends her love by the way."

Mulder nodded his thanks.

"I'll see you at work tomorrow," he said.

"You're welcome," she replied. She took the cups to the kitchen as he lied back down on the couch, and a moment later he heard the door open, then close behind her. He closed his eyes and fell asleep still wondering what he was going to say to Walter the next time he saw him.

 

* * *

 

You or Somebody Like You Chapter 7: Damn  
Author: Goddess Michele  
Rating: NC17  
Fandom: X-Files  
Pairing: M/Sk  
Spoilers: various and sundry eps, nothing specific  
Beta: none  
Disclaimer: C.C., Fox and 1013 own them, I'm just borrowing them for fun, not profit, and I promise to return them only slightly bruised, but in that good 'thank you sir and may I have another?' way.  
Archive: put it wherever you like, just leave my name on it  
Feedback: Yes, PLEASE!   
Summary: Fox searches for clues, Dana searches for clues, Michele searches for clues...

* * *

"What's the matter, girl, don't you think I'm bright enough? This old man had a hard time getting here..."  
-Matchbox 20  
Damn

Fox Mulder easily recognized the Pet Shop Boys song when he entered the bar, even though it had been remixed and sped up to facilitate the dancers who packed every available inch of floor space in the club. 'In denial, indeed,' he thought, his mind awhirl with memories, current events, and sensory overload from the lights, sounds and sweaty mass of humanity he had just entered.

He wove through the crowd with an ease and familiarity that surprised even him. It had been a long time since he'd been here, hell, since he'd been anywhere that wasn't quiet, secluded...'Intimate', his brain supplied helpfully, making him wince and shake off the thoughts that followed that word almost physically, like a colt shivering off a biting fly.

He scanned the crowd in a manner that suggested hunting rather than cruising, although he received a few choice leers from some men who mistook his hunger for answers for a hunger of a less noble sort.

At the back of the room he spotted his quarry, and wasn't surprised a bit. Nothing this man did shocked him, and it seemed right and natural that Alex Krycek would be in the first place that Mulder had thought to look for him, the place where their ill-fated affair had begun with nothing more than two startled glances from two very closeted special agents...

Krycek was sitting at a small booth in the corner with a slight blonde man who might have been thirty, or might have been twelve. As he approached, Mulder watched the man tease Alex over the rim of a wine glass, using his eyes and tongue in a suggestive way that was as old as time. Krycek wore a smile that was more of a sneer, a mantle of condescension cloaking him in a way that seemed to fit him as well as the tight white t-shirt he was wearing-maybe better.

Mulder knelt quickly and released his gun from its ankle holster, slipping it into his jacket pocket where it would be more accessible.

As he stood, he was suddenly caught up in a tight embrace that he fought panicky for a moment, then relaxed into when he realized it wasn't Krycek, or some other Consortium goon.

A tall, thin drag queen with long dark hair, wearing a gold lame Madonna knock-off complete with matching cowboy hat had intercepted him with a hug and a kiss. Between the hug and the six-inch platform heels, the queen managed to block his view of Krycek's table completely.

"Marty! It's been forever! I thought you died, or something!"

"Not hardly," he muttered dryly, attempting to disengage himself from the embrace.

"Seriously, Marty, what happened to you? I heard you shacked up with some old man from the Hill, but I can't believe-" A sudden step back and a critical eye dramatically enhanced by a raised eyebrow and Mac cosmetics. "You got fat!" was the triumphant exclamation.

"Married life'll do that to ya," Mulder replied, deadpan, as he focused somewhere past one gold lame shoulder to note that the lithe blonde was now nearly sitting in Krycek's lap.

"Really, Marty, wedded bliss is no excuse to let yourself go-you used to be hot, you know." The look Mulder got suggested that he was still hot, and would do well to divorce the old man from the Hill and take up with a Princess from the north end.

"I have to go, hon." He ducked past lame and fake nails and continued towards his target.

The queen watched him walk away, wondered briefly if the 'space pants' line would have worked on him, then dismissed him from thought completely when she realized her glass was empty.

Mulder didn't wait for an invitation, just sat down abruptly in the empty chair in front of Krycek and glared at him.

Alex pulled his attention away from the thorough kiss he was giving his blonde companion, gave Mulder a smoldering glance that was impossible to interpret, then turned back to his friend and nuzzled his hair. He whispered something in Russian to the man, whose gaze also fell on Mulder, although it definitely wasn't a friendly look. Alex said something else, kissed the man on the cheek and gave him a careful plastic push. The man glared once more at Mulder, returned the kiss and slipped out of the booth.

"Nice company you're keeping these days, Krycek-who are you trying to kid?" Mulder pulled the gun out and held it under the table, making sure that Alex saw what he was doing. The move didn't seem to alarm his ex-lover in the least.

"Mulder, long time no see. Got tired of the federal closet and decided to do a little slumming, did you?" Alex sat back and nonchalantly stirred the clear drink in front of him, using the prosthesis, not because he had to, but because he knew it would get a reaction from Mulder, which it did.

Mulder knew that everything that had happened to the man before him had been a result of Alex's own treacherous actions and decisions, but he still harboured borrowed guilt over the Russian incident that had left Krycek with only one arm, and he grimaced as the man made a display of his amputation, even as he realized he was being played.

"Cut the crap, Alex. I think you know why I'm here."

"You've changed your mind, and you're here to pledge your eternal love to me, right?" His grin was positively angelic, all white teeth and wide green eyes, and for just the briefest of moments, Mulder thought that maybe Krycek wasn't kidding. The moment ended with Alex's next words. "Or maybe you just want to get laid."

"Oh, right, that must be it." Mulder's voice took on a bitter edge that only deepened when Alex took a sip of his drink, playing with him over the rim of the highball glass in much the same way as the departed blonde had played with him earlier.

"Hmmm, let's see," Mulder continued, "my choices are a) a loving, secure relationship with a good, stable, strong man-"

"You forgot old, stuffy and closeted," Krycek pointed out helpfully, setting his glass down and sitting back in the booth, bringing his natural hand up to stroke his chest, absently playing with a nipple through the thin cotton.

Mulder pointedly ignored him. "Or b) fucking the man who killed my father."

Alex rolled his eyes. "Oh, not that tired old story again, Mulder!"

"Deny it, then."

"What do you want, Mulder?"

"I want to know what you did to Kim Cooke, who you did it for, and how to reverse it."

Krycek seemed to consider his words carefully, still rubbing his chest slowly and deliberately, not having to look at Mulder to know that those changeable hazel eyes were tracking his movements. But he looked anyway, swallowed down the sudden lump in his throat, and shook his head, distracting Mulder from his body to look back up to his face, and he gave him another nasty smile.

"Kim? Nope, doesn't ring a bell. You must have me mistaken for some other adorable assassin-for-hire."

Mulder's arm moved, and Alex was sure he actually heard the gun cocking, even over the loud Erasure megamix now pounding through the club's excellent sound system. Or maybe it was just in his mind. He didn't allow himself to react to the threat, despite Mulder's darkening expression.

"Oh, come on, Mulder. You've had plenty of opportunities to kill me, and haven't done it yet. Why should your empty threat worry me now?"

"Walter is dying." Mulder spit the words at him.

The response was dry and bitter. "Boo-fucking-hoo."

Krycek had no time to react. One moment they were sitting glaring at one another, and in the next moment, Mulder had lunged across the table, knocking drinks and empty glasses away, and the gun he had been holding under the table was now embedding itself in the soft skin of Alex's throat. Not surprisingly, no one seemed to notice. Or care.

"Fuck it!" Mulder hissed. "I don't need you. I'll get my information somewhere else, and the world will be well-rid of you!"

Krycek did what he did best under pressure-sweated, panted, and got harsh breath in his ear in reply. Mulder was getting off on this, in a way, and Alex knew it.

"You like this," he accused.

"Shut up."

"Does your precious Walter ever do this for, you, Mulder? Ever make your blood feel like it's boiling in your veins?" Mulder dug the gun into him a little further, but his eyes were locked with Alex's, and he felt like his heart might be trying to pound right out of his chest.

"Does he ever get you hot like this?" Alex continued, almost purring the words.

"I said shut the fuck up!"

A nasty grin. "I didn't think so."

"All right. That's it." Steel shutters slammed down over the emotion Krycek had seen in Mulder's eyes, turning them flat and almost grey in the sketchy bar lights. He pulled back the hammer on the gun, and Alex shivered, as if from sudden cold, and suddenly realized he had gone too far.

"Okay, okay! Shit, get off me!" He pushed at Mulder's body and felt hard resistance against the plastic for a moment, had himself a flashback so quick he couldn't even be sure it happened, and then Mulder was backing off, righting the chair he'd toppled in his earlier attack and sitting back down, with the gun taking up it's previous residence under the table.

"Now tell me what I want to know."

"You spilled my drink."

"Krycek..."

"Pushy bitch," he whispered, then louder, "more new technology."

"We got that far ourselves," Mulder replied, frowning. "I want you to tell me what it's doing and how we stop it."

"The name Suzanne ring a bell?" When Mulder looked confused, he continued. "She's the one to thank for these latest nasty critters. Beyond that, well, you and the old man aren't the only ones who practice 'don't ask, don't tell'. I just get the orders and cash the cheques."

"Bastard." Memory was distracting him as he tried to make sense of Krycek's words.

"I'll tell my mom you said that," Alex was back to teasing now, feeling some of the earlier threat dissipating as Mulder processed his words. "As the song says, Mulder, it's all about the money."

Mulder suddenly looked disgusted, and his voice took on an almost plaintive tone.

"Why, Alex? You could have-"he groped for the words, couldn't find them. "We could have..." His voice trailed off, and Krycek barked harsh laughter at him, making him flinch.

"Too little, too late, Mulder." He waved him away airily with the prosthesis, making Mulder flinch again and relishing it. "Go find your old man and crawl back into the closet with him. Leave the rest alone for us big boys. It'll be safer for you and for all concerned."

"Fuck you."

"You said that already. Why don't you just put up or shut up."

Again Alex was surprised by sudden movement, and he cursed himself for forgetting just how quick his ex-lover could move, just before the gun butt came crashing down on his head, knocking him askew, and relieving him of all conscious thought as effectively as death.

Mulder slipped into the booth beside the unconscious man slumped over the table and began systematically patting him down, trying to ignore the sensory memory his fingers were supplying him as they ran over smooth muscles.

In the front pocket of Krycek's pants, he found a locker key, and almost laughed when he realized it was for the same set of lockers that the Russian had used to hide the MJ files.

"Same old Alex," he whispered.

He stood and almost bumped into a waiter approaching their table.

"I don't think he needs another drink," he told the startled man, then sidestepped quickly and in a moment he was fairly running for the door, already planning to find whatever Alex had been hiding, then get over to the Lone Gunmen office. He knew that between them, Scully and himself, they'd find the truth.

 

* * *

 

You or Somebody Like You Chapter 8: Argue  
Author: Goddess Michele  
Rating: NC17  
Fandom: X-Files  
Pairing: M/Sk  
Spoilers: various and sundry eps, nothing specific  
Beta: none  
Disclaimer: C.C., Fox and 1013 own them, I'm just borrowing them for fun, not profit, and I promise to return them only slightly bruised, but in that good 'thank you sir and may I have another?' way.  
Archive: put it wherever you like, just leave my name on it  
Feedback: Yes, PLEASE!   
Summary: flashback time-no need to mention that warp core sex is involved, is there...sorry for the wait, but the fates were conspiring against me...

* * *

"If you want you can get to know me well  
We get along so we shouldn't argue..."  
-Matchbox 20  
Argue

THEN:

"We have to talk, Walter."

The quiet voice coming from his darkened apartment startled Walter Skinner so much that he had his gun out of it's holster and pointing at nothing before he recognized Mulder's voice.

"Jesus, Mulder, you scared the hell out of me!" he tried for a growl but it came out more shaky than surly as he slapped on the lights to reveal his lover-

*Ex-lover* his mind reminded him maliciously

-sitting on the couch.

Walter reholstered his gun.

"What do you want, Fox?" he demanded in an angry tone even as he drank in the sight of Fox Mulder in jeans and a t-shirt like a man in the desert discovering a glass of ice water.

"I want you." Stated baldly, in a flat, uninflected voice.

"Go home, Mulder."

"No." Now sounding just a little petulant.

Walter sighed.

"We're not doing this," he said, trying to let go of anger and finding only weary resignation in its place.

"You said you loved me."

Skinner didn't miss the catch in Mulder's voice, and it took all his will power to stay standing at the end of the room and not run to embrace the other man.

Mulder scrutinized Walter intently, noticed muscles twitching in the strong jaw, and large fists clenching and unclenching, and he fought to remain impassive at the display.

"I said what I had to." Each word was spat out like poison, like acid, and both men burned at Walter's statement.

"No, I-I refuse to believe that."

"Believe or don't believe, Fox, but we are done here." He put finger and thumb over temples suddenly throbbing, tried to rub away the pain. "It's late. I'm tired. You're leaving."

"No. Not until you talk to me." Skinner's last comment had broadsided Mulder-he hadn't expected this to be easy, but the outright bitchiness had caught him off-guard, if only momentarily. However, he rallied quickly-this was too important to him.

Abruptly Walter strode past him to the bar. He poured himself a scotch, neat, splashing the liquor violently into the glass and slamming the bottle down. He stared at the drink for a long moment, then set it down just as hard.

"I have nothing to say to you, Mulder," he declared in a tone that no one would argue with. Of course, Mulder was the exception, and Walter really didn't expect anything less, although it made him even angrier here, in his own home, than it ever did at the office. Stray thoughts of chokeholds past flashed through his mind.

"I think you do." Mulder sounded irritated, not quite angry, but well on his way.

Walter beat him to it. "Agent Mulder, get the hell out of my house!"

Mulder jumped to his feet, eyes blazing fiercely, and Walter was again forced to recognize the simple beauty of the man across the room from him, and that recognition both weakened and strengthened his resolve to end this, now, before it was too late-for both of them. Mulder's heated words cut off his thoughts like ice water had been thrown on him.

"Oh, knock it off Walter! Let me remind you of something: You've had your dick up my ass for the last year, in case you hadn't noticed, and I've had mine up yours, so I highly doubt that your butcher-than-thou bullying techniques are going to work on me now the way they work on everyone else. Save that crap for the fucking steno pool!"

They glared at each other wordlessly, neither man moving, neither one of them feeling capable of moving. A wire of tension seemed strung between the two of them, pulling tighter and tighter until Walter thought his heart might actually be ripped from his chest.

Then, with a noisy sigh, Mulder collapsed on the couch again, and in a ragged voice, whispered, "Walter, get your ass over here."

Walter thought about refusing, knowing close proximity would be the worst sort of mistake at this point, and only realized that he wasn't able to refuse when he was already half-way across the room.

"Ah, hell." His sigh was equal parts frustration and resignation as he sat down in the easy chair next to the couch. They exchanged another wordless glance, found a truce in it somehow, and Walter suddenly raised an eyebrow and a wry grin turned up the corners of his mouth, although his eyes were still dark.

"Butcher-than-thou?"

"Poetic license." Mulder's tone was mild. He stood and wandered over to the bar, poured himself a brandy, and retrieved Walter's scotch for him. He handed Skinner his glass, then slipped gracefully to the floor to sit beside Walter's chair.

Mulder swirled the liquor in his glass, contemplated it seriously, but didn't drink. Without looking up, he said,

"Do you want to tell me what happened last week? Or do you want to yell at me some more first? I'm open to either at this point, as long as you don't ask me to leave again." A pause. "Because I won't."

"Well, then, I won't ask you to." Walter drained his glass in three quick swallows, winced as mellow heat branded his throat and settled into his already queasy stomach, and sluffed off his coat and suit jacket, then sitting back on them and for once not worrying about wrinkles.

"Mulder..." he didn't know where to go from there, but Fox put no pressure on him to speak. Instead, he very calmly, very slowly and very deliberately slid across the carpet until he had insinuated himself between Walter's legs.

"Mulder," he tried again, swallowed nothing, drew a deep breath. He studied the slim muscular back presented to him, and muttered, "I'm not a young man."

Mulder snorted into his brandy, drowned the need to laugh with a quick sip, and nodded minutely, knowing that Walter would feel it where his shoulders were brushing the other man's thighs, and know that he wanted him to continue. And after an uncomfortable pause, he did.

"I don't know where this came from. I never expected it." At the slump he felt in Mulder's body, he hastily added. "I'm not saying I regret it-god, no! I just-I-we-it's not..."he let the jumble of words fade away, and tried to re-order his thoughts into something cohesive. His tone was quieter the next time he spoke. "Maybe I should have seen this coming. A man my age and all-"

"Are you saying I'm the equivalent of a sports car and a toupee, Walter?" Fox interrupted. "Christ, I don't know whether to be offended, or flattered." He shook his head then tipped it back, trying to make eye contact. Walter looked away, focussing on one of the paintings on the wall.

"The point is, Fox, I don't know if I'm ready to be-well, to be what we are, I guess..."

Mulder stood, drained his glass, retrieved the brandy bottle from the bar and came back to fall down in front of Skinner again, this time with his long legs tucked neatly under him, facing Walter and resting his head on his knee. He slopped brandy into the snifter and set the bottle on the coffee table.

"Walter." He captured the older man's eyes with his own, gave him a demanding look. "No one is asking you to twirl a baton in this year's gay pride parade."

Silence greeted this remark. Then:

"But-"

Mulder touched his hand and cut off his protest. "That is what you were thinking, isn't it? That just because I mentioned a gay nightclub, all of a sudden we should be marching in parades, having a commitment ceremony performed by some lesbian rabbi, and doing interviews for the Advocate on what it's like to be the reincarnated souls of Speed and Junior?"

Walter didn't speak, but the tic was back in his jaw, and he turned his head to one side, avoiding Mulder's gaze. It was all the answer he needed, and he continued, softer of voice now, squeezing Walter's hand and getting his squeezed in return.

"And because you thought I wanted these things, and you thought that you couldn't offer them, you decided that I should find someone who would." Tone faintly accusatory, and Walter flushed dully, knowing he was right. He hadn't stopped to consider Mulder's feelings in the matter, just taken one comment and turned it into some sort of neurotic guilt trip for himself.

As if reading his mind, Mulder continued, saying, "I'm not saying these things to make you feel guilty, Walter. I'm telling you this because I want you to know that it doesn't matter what we do. It doesn't matter if you wake up tomorrow and decide you're as gay as Christmas and want to alert the media. Nor does it matter to me if you never decide to analyze yourself or our relationship." A watery sigh, and Walter finally looked back at him, saw shiny eyes, and a shy smile that looked a little tired, a little sad.

"I don't want a parade, Walter. I only want you."

"Oh, Fox..." He thought he might start crying himself in a moment, realizing all that he had so carelessly given up, or tried to give up, then realizing that he was being given another chance. He thought that maybe they should talk more, about each other's expectations, and experiences, and where the relationship was headed. Surprisingly enough, he thought for just a fraction of a second about the potential lesbian rabbi, and then he decided that actions would always speak louder than words for him, and he reached down and scooped Mulder up in his arms, only dimly aware of the other man's muffled exclamation of surprise as he crushed him to his chest in a heartfelt embrace. Mulder's snifter went flying, good brandy stained the carpet, and neither man could have cared less.

"Walter-" Whatever it was that Mulder wanted to say was going to have to wait as Walter covered his mouth with his own, kissing him thoroughly with all manner of lip/tongue/tooth variations that left the younger man reeling and light headed, and left both of them gasping for air.

"Walter-" Mulder tried again, and again Skinner tried to take the words away, but Fox ducked his head and Walter had to be content to nip at an earlobe, then lick, then blow, making the other man shiver in his arms and forget what he was going to say. Instead, he went to work loosening Walter's tie, fumbling with it for a moment, then getting it stretched enough that he could attack the buttons of his starched white dress shirt, which lay open moments later, and Mulder was running his hands lightly up and down that furred muscular chest, stroking and scratching until Walter found his mouth again and distracted him.

Mulder found himself pulled tight to Walter's chest again, where he could feel the older man's heart beating wildly under him, and he just held himself still, soaking in all the unspoken emotion that Walter was incapable of articulating at this point.

"Walter-" his voice was a breathy whisper, and he thought the third time must be the charm, as Walter didn't interrupt him, or distract him, and he finished his thought, laying his head down close to that heart beat, feeling comforted by it. "I don't care if I'm just a midlife crisis to you."

No reply was forthcoming, although Mulder felt Walter's tiny gasp of surprise under him. A moment later, though, he was lifted gently to his feet, and Walter stood with him, still holding him tightly. Walter's voice was a low breathy sound in his ear.

"You're so much more than a sports car, Fox," he whispered. "I love you."

Mulder pulled away enough to look into those dark brown eyes, magnified by wirerims that were sitting slightly askew now, read the depth of emotion in them, and offer a genuine and heartfelt smile, that earned him one in return.

"You stupid bastard, I love you, too!" he exclaimed, and then he was the one kissing away Walter's words, silencing him in a slick and effective manner that soon led to a hearty groan and a reluctant pulling away by the other man.

"Oh, god, Fox, I'm-I-slow down a second, or I'm gonna go off right here. Right now."

"What's your point?" the words were muffled against his lips, and Mulder wriggled in his arms, brushing up against the hard evidence of his arousal and he made a sound that would have been a whimper if he'd let it.

Mulder thought they should take this to the bedroom; Walter thought he should lock up the apartment and get Fox upstairs.

They made it as far as the couch.

Walter wound up splayed out on his back, and he just had time to tug his tie off and toss it across the room before Mulder pounced on him, as enthusiastic as a Saint Bernard puppy, and just about as graceful.

Mouths joined, hands moved, arms and legs flailed madly, and clothes flew amid grunts and groans and murmured fervent cries to each man's deity of choice.

Both of them naked now, and Walter held Mulder tightly, kissing his mouth, nose, eyelids, gently devouring every inch of the man's face, while his hands ran up and down the length of his back, stroking smooth hot skin and forcing closer contact, though not a slip of paper could have come between them at this point.

Mulder ground his hips into the body beneath him, and was rewarded with a moan and a hard thrust that nearly knocked him off the couch. He disengaged himself from Walter's tongue, which was damn near giving him an impromptu tonsillectomy, and smiled lecherously at his lover, who was desperately trying to reclaim both his breath and Mulder's mouth.

"I guess this means we've made up."

Walter's reply was a none-too-gentle tug on his hair, forcing another kiss, and a shifting of hips so that their erections slid and slipped along one another. Mulder made a sound low in his throat, like a purr, like a whimper, and reached down to grasp Walter's cock.

"Oh, Christ, Fox, that feels-oh!"

Between the torrent of emotion that had been unleashed in him after a week of denial, and the physical reality of his lover's knowing hands, Walter didn't even have time to tell Mulder how it felt. As always, his actions spoke louder than words, and Mulder felt the other man's approaching orgasm rush through a body drawn tight as a bowstring, then limp as overcooked pasta as he spilled his seed over the hand still working him.

Walter saw stars for a moment, and fought to control his breathing, even as Mulder was coaxing the last vestiges of his orgasm from him. He trembled under the other man's ministrations, hypersensitive physically and emotionally, and it took him a while to realize that Mulder was talking to him. The man was lying across his body, one hand still between Walter's legs, the other around his neck, and he was talking like there was a desk between them.

"...they say there' s nothing like make-up sex. I have to say, you were pretty quick off the mark, there, Walter-if I was vain I'd think that you missed me. Well, I hope you missed me a little bit, anyway. It's not entirely outside the realm of possibility, is it? I mean, I-"

"Don't you ever shut up?" The words came out in a husky, panting growl, and Walter shoved upwards, hard, neatly reversing their positions without breaking anything. Mulder nearly had the wind knocked out of him as two hundred pounds of muscular assistant director pinned him to the couch.

"Oh, oh, okay. I'll make you a deal, Walter-oh!" A mouth descending on his right nipple distracted him, but he forced himself to focus, sort of. "I-I'll talk less if you-you promise to talk more-oh, ohhh..." There was more to say, but words were lost as Walter slid down his body and took him in his mouth. He was pretty sure he heard Walter make his promise, but he might have just felt the vibration of the words on his cock as Walter swallowed him nearly to the base. And what did it matter anyway? he thought. If Walter actually managed to suck his brains out through his dick, which was apparently his intention, then he'd be too stupid to care if Walter kept his promise-

And then Walter pulled his mouth away, and he cried out in protest. Eyes closed, throat bared, he reached blindly for the other man and had his hands slapped away.

There followed several minutes of light kisses and licks across the head of his sex, making him quiver and whimper and struggle as his lover held him firmly in place. A thick-fingered hand encircled the base of his cock, and squeezed just hard enough to hold his arousal at its peak without allowing him to tip over the edge. Mulder found himself begging incoherently for release, and thought he might faint if he wasn't allowed to cum soon.

Suddenly the ring of pressure at the root was removed and Walter's hot mouth took his entire length, sucking hard, creating a vortex of demanding, incredible, sensuous pressure.

Mulder uttered a sort of a choked screeching noise that, at any other time, would have had Walter in hysterics, but for now he was totally absorbed in the task at hand, and he opened his throat as best he could as his lover rushed to completion, and he tasted the essence of him on his tongue, and he swallowed reflexively, again and again, relishing the bittersweet taste that seemed to sum up all that was Mulder, and all that the two of them shared.

Mulder's last thought on the subject was "I love you, Walter!" but he didn't know if he'd spoken the words out loud, or just thought them. And then, as he felt his lover's mouth gentling on his softening penis, he slipped away in a haze of physical aftershocks and desperate gulping for air.

He opened his eyes sometime later and gazed woozily around the room, finally focusing on his lover. Walter was sitting up on the couch, still splendidly naked, wearing a smug and utterly self-satisfied look on his face. He grinned down at Mulder, who was still on his back, his arms and legs splayed bonelessly.

"Remind me to try that at the office the next time you go off on a rant."

"Fuck you." But he was smiling too, as, with a Herculean effort, he pulled himself up to a sitting position beside the older man.

They grinned stupidly at one another for a moment, then Walter ruffled Mulder's hair and Mulder said:

"They're right."

"Who's right? About what?" Despite his best intentions, Walter couldn't always catch Mulder's trains of thought, even with the boarding pass that he'd been given.

Mulder waved his hand at nothing. "Them, Walter, you know. The 'they' that everyone always talks about. As in "you know what they say..." Well, in this case, they say make up sex is the best. And they're right."

Walter didn't reply, just mussed his hair again, then slid his hand through the soft strands to rest on the back of his neck.

"But, Walter..." Mulder turned to him and stared hard at him with eyes that fairly glowed.

"Yes?"

"I do not want make up sex ever again." He said the words slowly, deliberately, and Walter understood completely.

"Never again, Fox." His voice was solemn and subdued, and he suddenly leaned his body into a loose embrace with his lover, whose arms came up around him instinctively.

"If I promise breakfast and hours of stimulating conversation tomorrow, can we just go to bed?"

Mulder nodded, kissed him gently, and stood, holding out his hand. As they ascended the stairs to the bedroom, he whispered "I love you, Walter."

Got back, "I love you, Fox."

And got in the last word with, "And don't you dare try anything like that at the office."

Walter's rich laughter enveloped them both as they entered the bedroom.

 

* * *

 

You or Somebody Like You Chapter 9: Kody  
Author: Goddess Michele  
Rating: NC17  
Fandom: X-Files  
Pairing: M/Sk  
Spoilers: various and sundry eps, nothing specific  
Beta: none  
Disclaimer: C.C., Fox and 1013 own them, I'm just borrowing them for fun, not profit, and I promise to return them only slightly bruised, but in that good 'thank you sir and may I have another?' way.  
Archive: put it wherever you like, just leave my name on it  
Feedback: Yes, PLEASE!   
Summary: There's no way to make the title of this chapter fit the work, so I won't even try. Suffice to say, stuff happens. Lots and lots of stuff.

* * *

"So please hand me the bottle  
I think I'm lonely now  
and please give me direction,  
I think the hurt's set in."  
-Matchbox 20  
Kody

Melvin Frohike muttered something wordless and grouchy as he snapped open the many locks on the front door of the Lone Gunmen's office, not so much because he was annoyed at the knock on the door, but because he almost felt it was expected of him. He pulled open the large metal door to admit Fox Mulder, who had already raised his hand to knock again.

Patience, Mulder. You know we have to maintain our security levels."

Mulder pushed past him without a word, heading straight for the large conference table where Byers and Scully were standing, looking over Langly's bony shoulders as he typed furiously on the keyboard of one of the several computers hooked up there.

"Someone's in a hurry," Frohike grumbled as he relocked the door and followed Mulder. But he knew if he was the one in Mulder's position, with a lover at death's door and a mystery to solve, he'd be just as single-minded.

Byers looked up as Mulder approached, noted the paper shopping bag in his arms, and asked, "What have you got?"

"In a minute, Byers," he replied, focussed solely on his partner. "What did you find, Scully?"

"I think we've got something, Mulder." She pointed at one of the monitors as Langly enlarged a section of it.

"This is a sample of Kimberly's blood," she said, before he could ask. "Do you recognize those?" She indicated at what appeared to be several small black gears shifting and rotating amongst the blood cells.

"Same as Walter's," he agreed. "But she hasn't turned into an HB pencil, yet, so what are they doing?"

"Good question. So far, they seem to be doing nothing more than-there-look-" She touched one of the enlarged black cogs on the screen as it emitted what appeared to be a red bubble that looked more or less just like the red blood cells that surrounded it. "They're making more blood, Scully? That doesn't explain why Kim would suddenly turn into a gun-toting homophobe."

At that moment there was a loud beep from a machine on another table at the far end of the room. Byers walked over to what appeared to be a microwave oven, if microwave ovens came with four extra computer motherboards, a keyboard and optional centrifuges welded to their sides. He slipped on a latex glove and opened the front of the machine, removing a small vial from a holder in the center. It appeared to be half full of some viscous pink liquid, with red grains of sand at the bottom of it. He tipped the vial gently and allowed a drop of the fluid to fall on a glass slide. Then he did something interesting and incomprehensible to the side of the machine, slipped the sample into a slot on the side of one of the circuit boards, and typed a few commands into the keyboard.

"You were the kid that always got beat up for winning the Science Fair contests, weren't you, Byers," said Mulder, still staring at the monitor image of Kim Cooke's blood sample.

"Those guys were just jealous," Byers replied.

A minute later, one of the many printers scattered around the office started up, and Langly got up to retrieve the document, while Byers explained:

"It's an analysis system that Frohike built-"

"I programmed it!" added Langly. Frohike shot him a warning glance, which he chose to ignore.

"Anyway, it can analyze the makeup of the cells that the nanocytes are creating, to determine if there's any factors there that may have been the cause of Miss Cooke's bizarre behaviour."

Langly and Frohike were nearly coming to blows over the readout, both men tugging at the paper and glaring at one another. Mulder walked over to them and neatly plucked the document from their hands, and put it in Scully's, asking softly, "What do you see, Scully?"

She studied the strings of letters and numbers, which Mulder knew would have made no sense to him, and only a few minutes later, she announced, "I think-Mulder, I think this is ergot." Her back itched reflexively, and Mulder winced when she gave him a scared but level look. Then her eyes were drawn back to the page, and she continued; "but that's only part of it. See these letters here? They indicate a substance similar to decongestant, usually only found in asthma inhalers or nasal spray."

"Killer Otrivin?" Langly's comment was ignored when Byers gasped audibly. They all turned to stare at him, and he gulped uneasily and whispered,

"E-H."

"What's E-H?" asked Scully.

"Ergotamine-histamine gas," Frohike and Byers responded in unison.

"Have you ever heard of it?" Scully directed the question at Mulder, who suddenly flushed and looked away.

"I'm familiar with it."

"In small doses, it causes paranoia and anxiety in its subjects." Byers recited the words as if from memory, and looked even more pained as he did so.

"Byers ex-girlfriend designed the stuff," he said to Scully, then turned to Mulder and added, "She used to get beat up at the science fair, too."

"But I don't understand how the nanocytes are creating it, or how we're supposed to stop it." Byers continued. Scully looked once more at the printout, trying to will out the answers they needed.

"When Walter was poisoned with these things," she said, her voice hesitant, "we considered a full blood transfusion. It's incredibly risky, but..." She shrugged, indicating she didn't see any other option at this point.

"That might not be necessary," said Mulder. All eyes in the room were suddenly drawn to the shopping bag, which he had held, almost forgotten, the whole time. He reached into it, and pulled out what appeared to be an ordinary Palm PC, and a small stylus to go with it. Handing it to Langly, he reached back into the bag and retrieved a videotape. This he put into Scully's hands with a small frown. She glanced down at the label on the front of it, which read M/Sk101301.

"Is this--?" she hesitated, and Mulder gave her another sad look, and nodded.

"In a past life I might have paid good money for it," he told her with a sick grin.

"Where did you get this?" Langly asked, and Mulder turned his attention back to the bespectacled blonde man, who was running the stylus over the front of the unit quickly, scanning the small monitor on it with a look that was part awe and part greedy longing.

"Let's just call it a lovely parting gift, and leave it at that. What can you tell me about it, Langly?"

Scully wondered about the angry catch in Mulder's voice, then looked back at the video in her hands, and thought to herself that she might have an idea where this stuff had come from, as she remembered a junior G-man with more longing looks than experience under his belt...

"It's not local. Looks Japanese. There's no trademark, and it looks like the serial number's been filed off. Somebody was making sure this puppy never got traced." He reached behind one of the computer monitors on the desk, found the power cord he wanted, and plugged it into the Palm PC. He tapped buttons on it with the stylus, typed in a command on the main keyboard, and suddenly screens were popping up on the monitors with frightening speed.

"This baby's loaded!" Langly couldn't hide the admiration in his voice. "Man, look at these codes, passwords, safety nets-"

"Can you figure it out?" asked Scully.

"I could probably get into the main code system and get one of these other programs to translate everything, take it apart line by line-"

"What about transferring all the relevant data from the palm unit to the mainframe, then creating a virus designed specifically to destroy only files that came from that particular unit." Frohike suggested.

"Could the unit be disassembled manually?" Byers wondered aloud. "Maybe cross the generational wires with the active links until the unit stopped producing the nanocytes, thus negating their behaviour..."

"Is there an off switch?"

All four men turned to stare at Scully, who still held the video in her hands and was looking down at it. There was a long silence, which was broken when she raised her eyes to them, then raised one eyebrow as well.

"Well?"

Mulder lunged for the Palm PC, but Langly beat him to it, unplugging it and flipping it over in his hands. Frohike grabbed it, nearly thumbed the switch on the back while fending off Langly, who was grabbing for it, then turned and gave Mulder an understanding look. He pushed the small machine into Mulder's nerveless hands and said,

"What have we got to lose?"

Without hesitation, knowing no good would come from second guessing himself, Mulder shut the machine off.

Scully let out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding. They all waited anxiously, wondering if the machine was going to blow up, or melt, or maybe turn into a piece of cheese. When none of these things happened, Langly asked, "Can I keep it?"

"Sure," said Mulder.

"Now what happens?" asked Scully.

"Now, I guess we head on back to the hospital and make sure everyone's still alive. Come on." Mulder turned to walk away, then turned back to his three friends, peeked into the shopping bag he was still hanging on to, and gave the Gunmen a hard smile that turned up the corners of his mouth, but failed to touch his eyes.

"Thanks, guys. As a reward-" He tossed the bag onto the table beside the computers and, watched their eyes widen as the bag tipped and bundles of bills spilled out of it. "Consider next month's publishing costs to be on Alex Krycek. Let's go, Scully." And he turned and headed for the door, his partner right behind him.

Langly turned the Palm PC over in his hands. "I wonder if I can program it to play Dig Dug," he mused aloud.

THE HOSPITAL

Kimberly Cooke awoke with a start. She had been having the worst nightmare of her life, dreaming about killing her boss, Assistant Director Walter Skinner. She wondered what the heck her subconscious had been thinking, and wondered, too, if the extra piece of Bailey's cheesecake before bed had done it to her.

She tried to sit up and fell back hard against the bed, suddenly realizing she was strapped down. Just like in her dream. She tugged frantically at the bonds, but they gave no slack.

"What the-?" Her voice sounded thick and hoarse, like a person who's been yelling a lot, and she realized with a grimace of distaste that she smelled bad. Sour and scared, like old sweat.

"Hey." The word came out in a whisper, and she tried again, first attempting to lick dry lips with an even dryer tongue. "Hey!" A little louder, now, and then, despite the pain it put on her throat, she began to holler in earnest.

"Hey! Help me! Somebody! Can anyone hear me? Help! Help! HELP!"

*****

In another room, in another wing, Walter Skinner stirred as he felt himself awakening from bad dreams of hellfire and smothering heat and grinding pressure. He thought he ought to open his eyes and end the disquieting pictures forming in his head, but it seemed like too much work, so he opted to just turn his head, then turn it back, wincing at the stiffness in his neck and shoulders. He thought that maybe someone was in the room with him and, in a voice that sounded suspiciously like he'd been gargling with broken glass, he grated out the first word that came to mind.

"Fox?"

"Mr. Skinner? Can you hear me?" A soft voice, but not hesitant or unsure. Definitely a female voice.

His reply was an inarticulate grunt, and he still didn't open his eyes. Something pulled in his gut, and he winced and his next words were bitter. "What the hell happened to me?"

"Shhh..." was the doctor's reply. "Everything is going to be just fine. Let me go find one of the doctors working your case, and they can get you the answers. Just lie still, and I'll be right back."

He heard the woman walk away quickly in a flurry of crepe-soled footsteps, calling out for a doctor MacArtigan.

He wondered where Mulder was, what had happened and where he was, felt that stitch in his side again, and, as the pain didn't recede, but rather seemed to grow in intensity, took refuge back in unconsciousness, hoping Fox would be there when he woke up.

CAPITAL ICE RINK  
ROCKVILLE, MARYLAND

Alex Krycek slammed his real hand against the set of lockers hard enough to shake them on their frame, and leave a small dent in the locked one next to his own. Mulder had conveniently left the key in the lock for him, but had removed all the contents, including the video and all his trade secret funds.

"Fuck!" He hit them again, hurting them not at all, and succeeding only in adding a sharp pain in his hand to the throbbing headache Mulder's attack had left him with. He glared at the open empty locker a moment more, then, when he realized he was attracting unwanted attention, he walked away, muttering dangerously:

"This is so not over, Mulder."

 

* * *

 

You or Somebody Like You Chapter 10: Busted  
Author: Goddess Michele  
Rating: NC17  
Fandom: X-Files  
Pairing: M/Sk  
Spoilers: various and sundry eps, notably Miracle Man and Beyond The Sea  
Date: March 13, 2001  
Beta: none  
Disclaimer: C.C., Fox and 1013 own them, I'm just borrowing them for fun, not profit, and I promise to return them only slightly bruised, but in that good 'thank you sir and may I have another?' way.  
Archive: put it wherever you like, just leave my name on it  
Feedback: Yes, PLEASE!   
Summary: I think this is the last flashback...maybe...Again with the lateness, but with only real life as my flimsy excuse. As always, this is dedicated to my online family, who keep me as sane as I want to be, with a special thanks to Raven, who liked my dialogue. Joanne, I promise, hot monkey sex coming soon! Oh, and by the way: Shane, good riddance, you know what I mean.

* * *

I found out one life just ain't enough  
I need another soul to feed on  
I'm the flame, I can't get burnt,  
I'm wholly understated.  
-Matchbox 20  
Busted

THEN:

"Mulder, another one of your fish is dead." Walter Skinner observed, peering into the murky depths of the fish tank.

Mulder looked up from the file folder he was absorbed in.

"Really?" He stood up from the couch and joined Walter crouching in front of the shelf that held the tank. He pushed his glasses up a little further on his nose, and frowned at the pathetic orange corpse bobbing serenely next to the UFO tank toy. Then he looked over at Walter, made a great show of holding back sobs of grief and declared in what was unarguably the hokiest Southern accent ever:

"Oh, no, say it ain't so! I loved Little Elvis!"

Walter kissed the ensuing smirk off his mouth, couldn't help smiling a little himself, then got serious again.

"Smart ass. It wouldn't have happened if you cleaned the tank once in a while. Or maybe fed them-ever try that?"

Mulder shook his head, looked guilty just long enough for Walter to notice, then tapped a finger on the side of the tank. 'Little Elvis' didn't respond, although he thought something under the algae-covered pebbles might have winked at him.

"It's not my fault!" he exclaimed, "When I'm not out on a case, I'm usually at your place." His next words were quieter, almost talking to himself. "Sometimes I'm surprised I even remember where I live."

"We could always tag you."

Mulder looked at him, eyes widening behind his glasses as he continued.

"You know, get you one of those "If I am lost, please return me to..."

That comment earned him a wet-cat look of disgust that made him want to smile again.

"I'm serious, Walter." His eyes were drawn back to the dead fish. "Besides, who ever found me would probably just slap a choke-chain on me and drag me back to your apartment."

"Is that a bad thing?"

"...No-o-o..."

"Not quite the enthusiastic response I was looking for." As he spoke, he put one large hand on the back of Mulder's head, stroked his soft hair in a familiar manner that he used often to soothe both of them. He felt the conversation taking on a more solemn tone, and he gave his lover his undivided attention.

"It's not you, Walter. Really." As he spoke, he turned under Walter's hand, demanding more pressure, like a cat arching its back under its master's touch. "I love being with you, and I like your place..."

The unspoken 'but' hung in the air between them for a fraction of a moment, then Walter finished his thought for him.

"But it's my place." Emphasis on the word 'my', and Mulder looked guilty again.

"I'm sorry, I'm being an ass." He ducked his head out from under Walter's hand and stood up.

"No, Fox." Walter stood as well, and put strong arms around him from behind, holding him tightly through an instinctive fight-or-flight moment that neither one would consciously acknowledge, but which they both knew was there. He rested his head on Mulder's shoulder and continued. "Your point is valid. I've even been thinking about it myself."

"Really?" Sounding skeptical.

"Lately, yeah. A lot." He paused, then gave his lover an inappropriate kiss on the ear. "Listen. Why don't we give Little Elvis there a proper burial at sea, and then we can talk about how to keep your fish alive."

"Can we have pizza?" Mulder turned into the embrace and wrapped his long arms around Walter's shoulders, his half smile earning him a kiss on the down turned side of his mouth.

"You order." He reached behind Mulder and grabbed the small green fishnet off the shelf above the tank. "I'll take care of the arrangements." They shared a bigger smile.

As Mulder disengaged himself and headed over to the phone, he said, "Walter, do you know the words to 'Beyond The Sea'?"

"What?"

"Never mind."

***

Much later, Little Elvis had gone on to his final reward somewhere in the bowels of the Washington sewer system, and Mulder had demolished most of the large pizza they had ordered himself, claiming it was part of the grieving process. Walter had countered with his own version of mourning, and forced Mulder to help him clean out the fish tank, intent on rescuing the lone occupant from certain polluted death.

"Lisa Marie looks lonely in there all by herself," Mulder commented as he surveyed the pristine tank, delighted to find out that the pebbles at the bottom were multi-coloured, and not the uniform moss green he had originally thought.

"She's not the only one who gets lonely, Fox," Walter said, coming up behind him and putting his hands on the younger man's shoulders. Mulder turned in his lover's embrace, and returned it, clasping his hands around the back of Walter's neck.

"Are you lonely, Walter?" the sincerity of the question was diluted by the leer Mulder offered with it.

"Sometimes. When you're out on assignment, or..." he let his voice trail off and pressed his lips to Mulder's forehead.

"Or?"

"When you're not with me...at home..." He whispered the words carefully, knowing how skittish Mulder could be when it came to matters not directly related to alien abductions or government conspiracies. But he hadn't been lying to him when he had told him he'd been thinking about the way they lived, and the death of the fish seemed to be an opening to a conversation he was ready to have. He just hoped Mulder was too.

"What do you mean, 'at home'?" Mulder punctuated the words with feather light kisses to Walter's cheeks, his chin, the tip of his nose. When no answer was forthcoming, he pulled back and looked his lover square in the eye, his hazel pupils darkening in a way Walter was unable to interpret.

"Should I be sitting down for this conversation?"

"Couldn't hurt."

"Uh oh."

Walter had no answer for that but to steer him towards the couch, never relinquishing his hold on him, then pulling him down to sit very nearly in his lap. Mulder shifted a bit to get comfortable, and wound up pushing Walter into the corner of the couch and sitting between his legs, one which was hanging over the edge of the couch, and the other pushed up against the back. Walter pulled him in to his body tightly, with his head resting on his chest just high enough that his soft hair tickled Walter's chin.

"Okay, I'm resting comfortably," said Mulder. "I've had food, drink and some mild foreplay." As he spoke he ran his hands absently over Walter's thick arms, which were wrapped around his chest like iron bands. "We had a Martha Stewart moment and saved the life of a fine goldfish. I even got some work done so my weekend is accounting department free. And to top off the day-" He twisted his head to catch his lover's eye. "I have a devastatingly handsome man pinned to my couch."

Walter turned away from his gaze, blushing a little.

"So, having established that, I guess the next order of business is for you to tell me something awful that will ruin everything." He thought he had given the statement just the right flippant tone, but he hadn't, and Walter looked back at him with some alarm.

"What the hell are you talking about, Fox?"

"It's all too perfect, Walter," he blundered on despite the shocked tone in his lover's voice. "My life just doesn't work this way. Never has." He couldn't look at Walter now. "You've read my jacket. You know the drill: Step one, make Mulder happy. Step two, drop other shoe. Pretty simple, when you think about it."

"You forgot step three." Walter's voice was deceptively smooth, but Mulder wasn't fooled. He just wondered if the other man was angry at him, or at the powers that be, for bringing him into the X-File that was life with Mulder.

"What did I miss?"

"Step three." There was no mistaking the menace in those growled words, and Mulder tensed under them. There was a moment of silence that was almost palpable, hanging like thick fog in the room.

"Step three," Walter said again, "Hand the dropped shoe back to Mulder and ask him if he wants to move in with Walter Skinner."

Mulder was speechless. He slithered out of Walter's embrace and jumped to his feet as if he'd been stung.

"Is that 'no' or is it 'I have to think about it'?" Walter's tone was dry, but the growl was still there, muted but intense.

"And people tell me I'm crazy!" Mulder exclaimed. Walter silently held out a hand, Mulder took it reluctantly, and found himself pulled back down on the couch, beside Walter as he sat up.

"Tell me why I'm crazy." That voice, like velvet and fine grade sandpaper combined, was impossible for Mulder to resist. He ran his hands through his hair, and studied his shoes as he tried to put his madly racing thoughts into some kind of cohesive dialogue.

"I'm a slob," was his opening argument.

"And I'm anal retentive. We should compliment one another nicely." Walter wasn't giving an inch on this, at least not without a valid reason. And it would have to be one hell of a reason. He'd already had this conversation with himself a million times in the last few weeks, and he felt sure of his decision. Now he had to make Mulder believe in it, too.

"You're apartment is too small for two people."

"We'll find another place, Fox. Somewhere that's both of ours. With room for everything-my desk, your fish, our neurosis."

He got a weak grin at that, and was profoundly grateful.

"You hate my furniture."

"Now you're reaching, Fox." He put an arm around tense shoulders and squeezed firmly. "Now tell me the real reason you don't want to do this."

Mulder looked at him then, eyes wide and filled with longing.

"I don't want to do this because..."

Walter hugged him still tighter.

"Because..."

He kissed him softly on his temple, let his face rest in his hair, kissed him again.

"I don't want to do this because I want to do this so bad it scares me."

"That makes sense." Walter's whispered words stirred the fine silk of his hair.

"It does, though. I've taught myself not to want the sort of things you offer, Walter. Security, home and hearth, domestic tranquility. I learned not to trust those things at an early age. You know that. And now, when I want so badly to believe in us, in you, in all those pipe and slipper dreams, I find all those old feelings coming back to bite me in the ass."

"If you want this as bad as you say you do, then you have to let it go, Fox."

"I know."

"Say yes. Not for me, although you've got to believe me when I say I want this probably more than you do. And not for any false sense of normalcy, because that's not what's being offered here. Say yes because you want to, because you know that you deserve happiness, and closure, and all the pipes and slippers that any one man can handle, just as much as anyone. Maybe more."

Mulder's response was so low Walter couldn't make it out.

"What?"

"I said yes, you big oaf! Yes, I want to live with you! Yes, I want the house in the suburbs and the goddamned station wagon, and even the fucking picket fence!" He was laughing as he spoke, eyes tilted up and nearly green with happiness, even as he hurled the words at Walter with almost angry force, and Walter wasn't the least bit surprised at the contradiction. "I want every single damned bit of it, and I want it with you!"

He fell dramatically into Walter's lap and looked up at him with shiny eyes. "You get the contract, and I'll open a vein."

"You are such an ass!" Walter exclaimed, his own smile threatening to split his face in half.

"Speaking of my ass..."

"Nice segue."

Mulder shifted around in Walter's lap and felt a stirring there.

"Thanks. You, too."

Walter pulled him up a little and lowered his face just enough that their lips touched softly. Mulder put his arms around the thick neck and pulled himself up closer, opening his mouth for a deeper kiss, which Walter was only too glad to give him. They teased one another with tongues and lips and teeth for long minutes, until Walter felt something in his neck warning him about the consequences of couch sex, no matter how fun it might seem at the time, and he pulled back with a soft bite at Mulder's lower lip. Mulder disengaged his arms and let himself be lowered gently back into Walter's lap.

Without hesitation, Mulder turned his head where it lay across Walter's thighs and brushed a cheek across the conspicuous bulge in his pants. Walter shifted under him, and made some small noise of approval, then groaned louder when Mulder gently mouthed him through the material of his pants.

"Mmm...nice segue," he murmured, and the vibration of his words and the small chuckle after them on Walter's denim encased erection was enough to spur the other man into action. He unceremoniously dumped Mulder off his lap and almost onto the floor, stood, if a little shakily, and held out a hand.

Mulder reached up and was pulled into Walter's arms so quickly he nearly fell, but those iron band arms went round his waist and held him upright and steady, even when deep and thorough kisses followed and his legs started to feel rubbery. He pulled his mouth away to breathe for a moment, and whispered, "Is this the part where they bring out Elvis?"

"No, this is the part where I drag you into the bedroom, tear off your clothes and make you scream." Walter bit at his throat, which he conveniently bared for him, and slid his hands down his back to rest on the muscular globes of his ass, pulling their bodies even closer together.

"I-I can't scream," Mulder gasped, "I have neighbours."

"You're moving, remember?"

"No arguing with that logic." He turned his head, found his lover's willing mouth again, then broke off suddenly and whispered. "Locks." He flicked his tongue around Walter's. "Lights." He nipped at his chin.

"Got it."

"Meet you in the bedroom." More tongue dueling, while his hands roamed busily up and down Walter's spine. Then a step back, and hazel eyes fairly blazing with a combination of dizzy lust and overwhelming love. "I'll be the guy in the condom."

Walter gave his ass a sharp slap. "Go."

Mulder disappeared into the bedroom while Walter moved to the door, drawing the chain lock across it, then finding light switches and lamps and shutting them off. When the only illumination left in the room was the small light from the aquarium, Walter paused for a moment, and announced gravely:

"Ladies and Gentlemen, Elvis has left the building."

 

* * *

 

You or Somebody Like You Chapter 11 - Shame  
Author: Goddess Michele  
Date: April 2, 2001  
Fandom: X-Files  
Pairing: M/Sk  
Category:?  
Rating: PG13  
Status: WIP  
Spoilers: various and sundry eps  
Archive: put it wherever you like, just leave my name on it  
Feedback: Yes, PLEASE!   
Series/Sequel: You or Somebody Like You 11/12  
Beta: none  
Disclaimer: C.C., Fox and 1013 own them, I'm just borrowing them for fun, not profit, and I promise to return them only slightly bruised, but in that good 'thank you sir and may I have another?' way.  
Summary: More chat with Fox and Kim, and a sort of explanation, or at least as much of one as you find in the X-Files.  
Notes: More chat with Fox and Kim, and a sort of explanation, or at least as much of one as you find in the X-Files. This chapter dedicated to my brother, Richard, who would have been 34 this month.  
Note: This one is for anyone who's lost a friend or a family member, and had the insane urge to go all "Tawanda" on the powers that be as a result.

* * *

"Shame,  
Shouldn't try you,  
Couldn't step by you  
And open up more..."  
-Matchbox 20,  
Shame

Mulder and Scully entered the hospital at a near sprint. Ignoring the entrance desk and the elevators, they headed straight for the stairs.

"I'll check on Walter, you go to Kim." Scully's tone brooked no argument, but she gave Mulder a gentle shove in the direction of the psychiatric ward just to emphasize her point.

Despite his increasing worry about Walter, Mulder had to agree with Scully's quick assessment and decision. They shared one of those quick "be careful-I will-you too" looks that only long time partners and best friends can achieve without words, then split up, Mulder leaving the stairwell on the psych floor, and Scully continuing upwards.

Mulder didn't hesitate as he neared Kim Cooke's room, despite the earlier altercation he'd had with her.

"Sir!"

He turned to see a nurse running towards him.

"You can't go in there."

Mulder waved his ID badge at her and said: "This woman is a suspect in a crime. Has there been a change in her condition?"

"Yes, sir." The nurse seemed a little awed by the badge. "The doctor's with her now, but-"

That was as far as she got. Mulder pushed her gently aside and entered Kim's room.

A doctor was standing at the end of Kim's bed, checking something on her chart, and he glanced up, startled at Mulder's sudden appearance in the room.

"Sir, you can't be in here-" he exclaimed, but before he could explain why Mulder couldn't be there, or force Mulder to produce his badge yet again, Kim Cooke's voice, weak but clear, cut him off.

"Agent Mulder?"

He approached the bed warily, hopeful, but apprehensive nevertheless, their last conversation still a fresh wound on his psyche.

She was still tied down, but Mulder recognized the change in her at once. Muscles formerly taut against the restraints were now lax, and her eyes as they tracked his movements were clear and sane. He realized immediately that whatever Krycek had done to her, shutting off the Palm Pilot had ended it.

"Agent Mulder," she said again in a whisper so low he had to strain to make out the sound. Sudden tears sprang up in her eyes, and her next words were thick with anguish:

"Is it true, Agent Mulder? What he said-" She indicated the doctor with a jerk of her head. "Did I muh-muh-murder-oh god!" She began sobbing uncontrollably, unable to say more.

Barely restraining his own emotional response, Mulder reached for the restraints on her wrists.

"Hey!" The doctor was glaring at him, dropping the chart and taking a step forward. "You can't-"

"Shut up and help me!" Mulder snapped at him angrily. He freed one of Kim's wrists, then struggled with the strap on the other one.

As soon as her hands were free, Kim buried her face in them, still crying loudly, and a cold thought, thick with vengeance, of Krycek and whoever he was working for, flashed through Mulder's mind, darkening his eyes momentarily and tightening his jaw in an eerie imitation of his lover. He tossed the thought aside, not without some effort, but knowing in his heart that plans for revenge of any sort would have to come later. At this point, his focus had to be on the hysterical young woman before him; she was his key to the truth, and he had to know what she knew.

He petted her hair and rearranged his expression into something bland and non-threatening.

"Kim?"

She took her hands away from her face and eyed him warily.

"Kim, I want you to listen to me. I know you're scared-I am, too." He shrugged his shoulders somewhat self-consciously and she gave him a curious look, her tears drying up a little at his words. "But, Kim, something was done to you. And I need your help to understand what that was."

She sniffled uncertainly, and he handed her a wad of tissues from the box near the bed. Then he poured her a glass of water and only remembered that the doctor was still in the room when he went hunting for a way to raise the head of the bed. He glared at the useless medic, then shoved him aside with uncharacteristic force in order to reach the button at the foot of the bed that controlled it's movements.

"We'll have to run some more tests?" It came out as more of a question than a statement, and when he was pointedly ignored, the doctor turned, pulled a shred of something resembling dignity over himself, and left the room.

Mulder rearranged the pillows under Kim's head, helping her to sit up a little, then gave her a moment to sip water and compose herself while he undid the straps on her ankles.

Finally, he pulled a chair up beside her bed, sat down in it heavily, betraying his fatigue, but only to himself, and asked quietly,

"Kim, can you tell me what you remember?"

He didn't think she was going to answer at first, but he gritted his teeth and waited with as much patience as he could muster, knowing that trying to rush her would do no good-not to Kim, not to himself.

At long last, she began to speak, and Mulder hung on her every word.

"There was a man in the office when I got there. He said his name was-was-"

Mulder leaned forward eagerly, then settled back, abashed, when he saw her flinch.

"I'm sorry, Agent Mulder." More tears coursed down cheeks already shiny and wet. "I can't remember."

"It's all right, Kim. Just go on, and tell me what you do remember."

"He said he was there to see the Assistant Director. But I remember that he didn't have an appointment."

"Did you send him away?"

"I didn't have to. He apologized, said he'd made a mistake. Then he left. When the Director came in, I-"

"Kim," he interrupted her gently, "This man you saw-does the name Arntzen sound familiar?"

He thought he saw recognition flash in her eyes, but it was there and then gone so fast that it might just have been wishful thinking on his part. Kim shrugged helplessly, and Mulder's voice got quieter.

"Kim, did this man touch you?"

She paused before replying, and Mulder heard the rising excitement in her voice when she put together a few pieces of the puzzle that had become her life almost overnight. "Yes! He shook my hand and thanked me for my time."

"Then what?"

He watched her concentrating fiercely, and he wished he could offer her the use of his own photographic memory.

"The Director came in-I said that already. I'm sorry-I-" She took a deep breath, and he watched her eyes cloud over, then clear as she sorted out the jumble of memories. "I gave him the mail, and asked if there was anything he needed right away. I remember he asked that I clear a space in his schedule for a meeting with you-" They shared a small smile, and Mulder reached out and took one of her hands. She squeezed it gratefully and continued. "Then he said I had made a mistake with the mail, and handed me a package that was addressed to me at the office."

Mulder snapped up this information like a starving dog with a bone. "And?"

"It was a videotape." Kim's voice had gotten quiet again, and she suddenly couldn't meet his gaze. He felt his own cheeks flush red in tandem with her own, and for a few moments they just sat silently. Mulder was stunned at the depths to which these people would sink, and Kim was warring with the shame of remembering the images she had seen on the videotape.

"Agent Mulder, I'm sorry. I didn't know..." She faltered, then found her voice again, and continued, seeming to draw some strength from his show of vulnerability. "When the Director went for lunch, I figured it would be okay to use the VCR in the inner office. I didn't go for lunch myself, because by then I was starting to feel kind of-sort of-well, queasy."

"Do you remember what you were thinking when you saw...it?" Part of him was desperate to know, part of him wanted to walk out of the room and never look back. As usual, his quest for the truth won out, and he waited to hear what she would say next, dread and excitement competing for space in his heart and making his stomach feel like it was trying to swap places with his lungs.

"I was thinking about my brother, Kris." She stated flatly, and Mulder gave her a curious look at the tone.

"I didn't know you had a brother, Kim," he said.

"He's passed on."

"I'm sorry."

"It was a few years ago. I'm okay with it now. Or, at least, I thought I was. Now, I-I-" More tears threatened, and she swiped angrily at her eyes with the back of her hand.

"My brother was gay, Agent Mulder. And he died of AIDS."

"Oh, my god..." Bits and pieces were starting to come together for him now, too. It made sense, in a horrifying way. The easiest way to get Walter killed. Take someone close to him, make her psychotic, then turn her on her target by exploiting her greatest fears, hatreds, weaknesses. He felt sick, and had to turn away from her, trying to compose himself.

"After that, I don't know-things-they get fuzzy."

He turned his attention back to her, and tightened his grip on her hand, although he suspected they'd both have bruising there if they kept up their fierce hold on one another for much longer.

"I seem to remember a phone call in the afternoon, a voice telling me some-something horrible. Or where something was? I can't seem to recall...I don't remember anything after that." Her eyes widened as they captured his gaze. "Did I really do it?"

He nodded dumbly.

"I can't believe-I've never-I would never want to hurt AD Skinner. You have to believe me. Please?"

"Oh, Kim, I believe you. What happened, what you did-you can't be held accountable for those actions." Even as he spoke he knew that proving what had happened was going to be virtually impossible. Surveillance tapes of the shootout in the office spoke far more compellingly than Kim's testimonial, and chances were, any other incriminating evidence would already be in the process of being taken away. He'd seen this sort of thing too many times to believe it wouldn't happen this time.

"But those people are still dead, Agent Mulder. And I killed them." She had exhausted her tears by now, but her body shook with fine tremors, which bespoke of the emotional war raging within her. A last, breathy whisper sighed out of her.

"What do I do now?"

"We, Kim, and we'll think of something. I promise." He stood up and placed her hand gently at her side. "I'm going to go see him now. He's in a coma-" Now it was his turn to sigh and shed a tear, which she reached up and brushed away with the back of her hand.

"But he might respond. And he's alive, that's something. Do you want anything?"

"I am so sorry, sir. So, so sorry."

"We will figure something out, Kim. You have my word."

She offered him a tiny hopeful smile and whispered, "Give him a kiss for me, all right?"

"You got it."

He left the room before more tears could fall, and spent several long minutes just outside her door, bent in the middle and gasping for air like he'd just run a marathon. He tried to come up with a plan, an idea, something that he could offer Kim, to save her from this ruin that was no fault of her own, and nothing came to him, except the overwhelming deep need to see his lover, to be near him, and to hear his voice. Nothing else seemed to matter in that moment, and he took off for the ICU at a jog, which became a sprint when he hit the stairwell.

 

* * *

 

You or Somebody Like You Chapter 12 - Hang  
Author: Goddess Michele  
Date: April 2, 2001  
Fandom: X-Files  
Pairing: M/Sk  
Category:  
Rating: NC17  
Status: WIP  
Spoilers: not so much here, but various and sundry eps throughout  
Archive: put it wherever you like, just leave my name on it  
Feedback: Yes, PLEASE!   
Series/Sequel: You or Somebody Like You  
Beta: none  
Disclaimer: C.C., Fox and 1013 own them, I'm just borrowing them for fun, not profit, and I promise to return them only slightly bruised, but in that good 'thank you sir and may I have another?' way.  
Summary: What would an X-File be without a fabulous action chapter...okay, a mediocre action chapter. My knowledge of guns and violence in general is sketchy at best, so feel free to correct me if need be. Mmm...correction...

* * *

"And we always say,  
It would be good to go away someday.  
But if there's nothing there to make things change,  
If it's all the same for you,  
I'll just hang."  
-Matchbox 20  
Hang

NOW

Scully was scrutinizing one of the machines next to Walter Skinner's bed with a practiced eye when the doctor walked in. He didn't bother with formalities, just simply announced, "He was awake earlier."

Scully turned a surprised face on him, which he ignored as he checked the I.V. bag hanging next to the bed and continued talking. "It was hit or miss there, for a while-we repaired as much of the damage as we could, but, well, if I had been a betting man..." His voice trailed off, and he finally looked at Scully and gave her a crooked grin. "I'd be going home poor. He's a fighter."

"Yes, he is," she agreed wholeheartedly, gazing fondly at her supervisor and her best friend's lover, and thinking he looked like he was breathing easier. Of course, she might have just been projecting, but she chose to go with her heart this time, and not her analytical side. She realized in that moment just how much Walter Skinner meant to her, not just for all the obvious reasons, but because of what the doctor had said. He was a fighter, and all too often it was for her that he fought. He had crossed lines at work and away from it, not just for his lover, but for her as well, and she thought that when he woke up again, the first thing she was going to tell him was a long overdue ''thank you".

"I have to finish my rounds," the doctor told her, interrupting her reverie. "You can stay with him, if you like."

Scully nodded absently, her eyes never leaving Skinner's sleeping form.

The doctor left and Scully approached the bed. She sat down in a terribly uncomfortable chair, had a stray thought about the maliciousness of hospitals in general, then put one small hand over Walter's large one.

She jerked back suddenly when his fingers twisted under hers, shocked and a little frightened. But she got a hold of herself quickly and leaned forward as he turned his face towards her. His eyes flicked open, but just barely.

"Sir!" she exclaimed, a warm smile flashing across her eyes, then settling in on her lips, turning the corners of her mouth up.

He tried to focus, tried to smile back, tried to speak, but was far too exhausted for any of it.

"You're going to be fine, sir," Scully assured him, wondering briefly at the number of times she'd said this affirmation, not just to Walter Skinner, but to her partner, to fallen comrades, even to herself. It ought to have sounded contrived by this point, but she still felt comforted by the words. And she thought Skinner did too, as his eyes slipped shut and his body seemed to relax. She thought he might even have gone back to sleep when he stirred a little and sighed out a single word:

"Mulder?"

The smile resurfaced on her face, and though not prone to harlequinesque melodramatics, she felt tears prick at her eyes. She blinked them away, determined not to do anything to alarm Skinner, and injected a positive, soothing tone into her voice.

"On his way, sir. He just had something to do." She thought maybe that sounded a little cold, and a lot lame, so she added, "for you. But he'll be here soon. You had him worried, you know."

The tic in his jaw would have been a grin if he hadn't been so busy trying to heal several assorted gunshot wounds. That sort of thing really took a lot out of a person.

Scully took his hand again, and again he squeezed, his grip light as a newborn's. He sighed again and really did fall back asleep this time. Scully let go of his hand and brushed the back of her fingers lightly over his brow.

"Everything's going to be okay," she whispered.

"How sweet-I think I got a cavity," A voice sneered derisively behind her and she whirled, reaching for her gun.

Krycek already had his out and pointed at her.

"Uh-uh, Dana, don't even try it."

The part of her not entirely focused on the large gun held unwaveringly at chest level dimly noted that Alex Krycek looked like hell. She saw crusted blood on his temple, and a swelling that seemed to extend well past his hairline and to the top of his head. His white-tee shirt was stained and dirty, and a large bruise was a dark blot on the pale skin of his neck, just below the jaw line.

"What do you want here, Krycek?" Instinctively, Scully moved a little to put herself between Skinner and his would-be-assassin. The gun tracked her.

"Not your issue, Dana," he growled, and his voice made her shiver. It sickened her to realize that there was a hint of desire as well as revulsion in that shiver. "I'm just here to take care of some unfinished business."

"Haven't you done enough to this man already?"

"Apparently not. He's still drawing air." Almost to himself, he added, "Guess that's what happens when you send a woman to do a man's work."

Scully heard him, though. "Bastard!" she hissed at him, all warm thoughts about emerald green eyes and full red lips burning up in the heat of her anger. "Is he that much of a threat to you, Krycek? To your keepers?" She paused, and when she resumed, her voice was as frosty as her eyes. "Or are you just jealous?"

"Jealous?" Krycek laughed harshly. "Of that old closet case? I don't think so."

"Closeted or no, he's got Mulder, and you don't." She chose to bait him, hoping to take his attention from the helpless man still asleep in the bed. "Maybe Mulder just likes to have more than one option when he asks for a handjob."

The words were so crude, so not Dana Scully, that for a moment, Krycek was stunned. His shock soon gave way to blistering anger, however, and he took a menacing step forward.

"I don't want to kill you, Dana, but I won't feel bad about it if it happens, so why don't you just be a good little fag hag and walk out of here while you still can. Then we can all get back to our lives, and maybe you can give Mulder his next handjob." Another step, and he was nearly on top of her, but she didn't back down.

"She'd probably do a better job than you, you rat bastard!" Mulder growled from the doorway, gun in hand.

Everything happened fast after that. Krycek whirled at the sound of his ex-lover's voice, and Scully took advantage of the distraction to shove him back, hard, hoping he'd fall. He didn't, but he lost his balance just long enough for her to get her gun out of its holster and point it at him.

"This is the end, Alex. If you don't drop your weapon now, I will put you down. I don't care how many times you sucked my dick!"

"Mulder!" *Life or death situation*, Scully admonished herself even as she cried out his name in shock, *and you pick now for a maidenly blush?*

Krycek held his gun on Mulder now, and for a long moment they glared at one another over their respective barrels. Both of them saw a hint of sadness in the eyes of the other, and while Mulder wondered just what the hell had happened to bring them to this place and time, Krycek simply wondered if his last earthly sight would be his ex-lover putting a bullet into him.

Then, like steel shutters over a convenience store window, Krycek's emotions were gone from his eyes, and he dismissed Mulder, focusing his mind only on taking care of the Skinner issue, and maybe the Scully thing, too, just for his own personal amusement. He knew he didn't have a chance against a crack shot like Fox Mulder, especially not at close quarters, but he was determined to finish his last job with a bang.

"Fox?"

Walter's weak voice seemed to break the spell for all three of them. Krycek turned towards Scully suddenly, and fired his pistol. Scully felt thin heat burn across the top of her shoulder as she ducked and the bullet just grazed her, scaring her more than harming her, but travelling with enough velocity to knock over the I.V. stand when it embedded itself in the bag of nutrients currently being dripped into Skinner.

Before he could fire again, he heard the roar of Mulder's much larger gun, and it was like someone had punched him hard in the arm, just above where his prosthesis was attached. Dimly, he saw Scully lining up her own shot with his other shoulder. Then he looked over at the window, and, seeing no other option, took a running dive at it.

Scully rushed to the window, and Mulder rushed to Walter's side.

"Walter? It's me, Mulder. I'm here." He took hold of Skinner's hands and pressed his lips to Walter's, just as what appeared to be half the population of the hospital ran into the room. Doctors, nurses, random interns, a security guard or two, and even three agents who were just coming up to visit their assistant director.

Mulder had no time for them. Walter had opened his eyes, and was looking up at him with a sweet and completely confused expression that made Mulder want to weep. Instead he just kept kissing his lover, pressing his lips to his cheeks, chin, forehead, lips, relishing the fact that Walter was alive, if not whole, when he had been so sure he was going to lose him.

Scully took one last look at Krycek's still form lying broken and bleeding on the hospital lawn, then turned to face the platoon of spectators in the room.

"What the hell is this, a circus? Unless you are a doctor or a cop, get the hell out." She knew she was being excessively rough, but she hadn't missed the stunned look the agents were giving Mulder and Skinner, not to mention the barely concealed contempt in one of the security guard's eyes, and she wasn't about to add homophobia to the list of problems currently facing her. "Like, today!" she added sarcastically, and the crowd started to disperse.

Only then did she feel the pain in her shoulder, and a cold trickle of blood running down the inside of her sleeve. When she winced and put a hand to her arm, the doctor who had been checking Skinner earlier approached her, but she waved him away, and turned to the security guards, who were still watching the two men kissing on the bed.

"Hey! Show's over. Now one of you get the hell outside and arrest the man lying on the front lawn. You can't miss him-he has one arm, and might be dead!"

The security guards retreated in the wake of her command, and she returned to the window.

"Mulder?" she called softly after a moment. When she got no response, she called his name again, louder, and he reluctantly let go of his lover to join her at the window.

"What is it Scully?"

She simply shook her head and walked away from the window, with the doctor trailing behind her.

Mulder looked outside, and saw nothing but three very confused security guards staring down at a patch of lawn stained dark with blood.

He and Scully exchanged a look, the gamut of emotions running across their faces; fear and anger, hope and faith in one another, love and grim determination to pursue this thing to the end, to the truth. Then Scully offered him a very tired smile and jerked her chin in the direction of the bed.

Mulder didn't need to be told twice. He was back at Walter's side in a flash, hugging his lover carefully but with intent, almost trying to shelter him with his body.

They stayed locked together like that long after the room was empty.

To Be Continued...

 

* * *

 

You or Somebody Like You Epilogue - The Pirate Movie  
Author: Goddess Michele  
Date: April 13, 2001  
Fandom: X-Files  
Pairing: M/Sk  
Category:  
Rating: NC17  
Status: WIP, soon not to be  
Spoilers: various and sundry eps  
Archive: put it wherever you like, just leave my name on it  
Feedback: Yes, PLEASE!   
Series/Sequel: You or Somebody Like You  
Beta: none  
Disclaimer: C.C., Fox and 1013 own them, I'm just borrowing them for fun, not profit, and I promise to return them only slightly bruised, but in that good 'thank you sir and may I have another?' way.  
Summary: As a writer I know and love once said, things have a way of turning out right a ridiculous amount of the time, and this is no exception. Besides, I'm a sucker for a happy ending. SHMOOP ALERT! Notes: There were twelve songs on the album, and I thought I'd finish the story in as many chapters-came close anyway. This is my first completed long work, and, as usual, I have to thank all the many people who helped me along with their feedback and encouragement. You know who you are, now know that it has not gone unnoticed...

* * *

"Give me a happy ending  
Every time  
We'll kiss and make up  
That's a very peaceful sign"

"Happy Ending", The Pirate Movie

***

"Hell of a party, big guy," said Frohike, grinning at Walter Skinner and raising his glass to him.

Walter smiled back and lifted his bottle of Sleeman's Honey Brown in a return toast, saying at the same time, "Don't look at me-this was all Fox's doing."

"*Fox*-man, that cracks me up every time!" Langly snorted as he strolled by the other two men, flipping peanuts into his mouth with unerring accuracy.

Frohike and Skinner exchanged another smile, this one at Langly's expense, then Walter put his bottle to his lips, relishing the way the cold, slightly sweet ale made his tastebuds cramp. Too many weeks of bland hospital food, after too many days where just contemplating eating anything at all had made him feel dizzy with nausea. Just the thought that it was all behind him now, more or less, made him want to try some of the chips and salsa he spied sitting on the coffee table. He looked down at the cane leaning on the side of the new recliner he was currently ensconced in, and grimaced, realizing the work it would take, just for nachos. Then he realized Frohike was still talking.

"What's up with Mulder anyway? He never struck me as a party guy."

Walter shrugged, then cast his gaze around the room, looking for the party guy in question. He spotted him standing by the door to the kitchen, and he felt a familiar tug at his heart, as well as his groin.

Mulder was leaning up against the doorframe talking to Scully and smiling down at his shorter partner.

Walter took a moment to appreciate that both of them looked completely comfortable, and not just because they were both out of the suit and (in Mulder's case) tie office drag for the night and looking relaxed and casual in blue jeans (both of them) and sweaters (hers blue and v-neck, his charcoal and looking suspiciously too big). They looked like they belonged together. Not as lovers, though. More like siblings, despite their physical differences. They looked like two people who had grown up together, he the older braid-pulling brother, she the adoring tomboy kid sister.

Suddenly, Mulder looked over at him, and their eyes locked. A new smile slowly crept across Mulder's face, this one gooey-rich and sweet and strictly for Skinner.

Mulder turned back and said something to Scully, making her glance sharply at her supervisor, then giggle and retreat into the kitchen, while Mulder approached his lover, quickly covering the distance between them in a couple of long-legged strides, which Skinner did not fail to appreciate.

"Hey, Melvin, you're chatting up the wrong guy, " he said, putting a possessive hand on Skinner's shoulder as he stood next to the chair. "He's taken."

Walter willed himself not to blush, and instead inclined his head so his cheek rested on the back of Mulder's hand.

Frohike just shook his head, muttered something about J. Edgar being proud, and wandered off in search of a fresh drink.

Squatting down beside his lover so that he was at eye-level with him, Mulder gave him a mildly curious and only partially worried look.

"Hey, big guy."

Walter chuckled and lifted his head. "You'd know, party boy."

Mulder gave him another one of those hot fudge sundae smiles, and squeezed his shoulder, then moved closer and pressed his lips to Walter's in a chaste kiss.

"How are you feeling?" he whispered, pulling away just a little.

"I'm fine. Stop worrying." Walter growled, but the smile he couldn't wipe off his face softened his words considerably. To prove his point, he returned Mulder's kiss, then sat back and drank a little more beer, certain he could hear Diana Ross singing in his head.

Mulder had insisted on a housewarming party, and Skinner had been in agreement, but, in fact, he thought it was more a celebration of his life and not just where he was living it.

Weeks in the hospital had done more than allow his body to heal, although that was probably the biggest factor in his mind most of the time. While his shoulder and wrist had knitted themselves back together easily and with a minimum of fuss, the newest additions to his already scarred torso were still making even the simplest of activities a chore. The doctors had used a myriad of technical terms for the wounds and the damage that had been done, which Scully had done her best to simplify for him, but, ultimately, what it came down to was that he'd been gutshot, again, and his gut didn't like it one bit. The signals his brain would give his body somehow got scrambled around his spleen somewhere, and the results could be anything from not being able to walk, to inadvertently pissing himself. (Thankfully, that had only happened a couple of times, at the start, and he'd been so doped up on painkillers that he wasn't as embarrassed as he could have been.)

Mulder had been a constant presence in the hospital, hovering, worrying and encouraging in a way that would have been sweet if it hadn't been so annoying, and could have been irritating if it hadn't been so heartfelt.

Walter remembered coming out of a daze to see Scully, Mulder and Alex Krycek, of all people, in some sort of fucked-up Mexican stand off around his bed, and being unable to make sense of any of it. He had called out for his lover, there'd been gunshots, and then all he knew was a profound sense of relief as Mulder embraced him and kissed him and told him he loved him.

He'd seen more people come into the room, doctors, nurses, even agents he recognized from work, but none of that seemed to matter, compared to the feel of Mulder in his arms, and his last conscious thought at that time was that coming out wasn't the huge complicated monster he had made it out to be in his mind. Coming out was simply about loving and being loved.

And so, his hospital time, a time of physical healing and restraint, had become as well, a time of self-revelations that had left him with an odd sense of loss, somehow, but with a profound sense of freedom as well, that he thought had added as much to his recovery as the doctor's medicine and Mulder's company. Of course, he realized that he had it easier than most people did in his situation. There was no family to confront, no conflicted yearnings regarding partners, and the ingrained sympathy people felt for hospital patients lent itself to their acceptance of his honesty.

Of course, he hadn't been back to work, yet, but Mulder insisted that no one there was making a fuss about him, other than over his injuries. He knew his lover well enough to know that the man would probably lie to protect him, so he went to a more reliable and far more objective source-Scully. She agreed with Mulder, telling him that the only gossip she'd heard about them was some good-natured jealousy from the secretarial pool along the lines of "why are all the good ones gay?"

Bottom line, he supposed, was that no one had come to ask him for his resignation, so only his return to the office would be the final proof, and in the meantime, he would just have to accept their word on the subject, while surreptitiously checking his lover for bruises to make sure he wasn't getting gay-bashed in the parking garage, or something like that.

"Hey, you still with me, here?"

Mulder's voice brought him out of his reverie, and he offered him an apologetic grin.

"Sorry, wool-gathering."

"Getting tired?" Mulder scrutinized him carefully.

"No, I'm fine. Go on. It looks like Byers wants the ten-cent tour." He made his smile wide and toothy to impress upon his lover just how fine he was. Mulder laughed outright, a sound that Walter knew he'd never ever tire of, then walked back to the doorway, where Byers was standing with a young blonde man and an exotic looking dark haired woman.

Skinner went back to his musings, watching people wander around the living room, drinking, eating and conversing quietly.

The house was as wonderful as he remembered it when they'd signed the deed. Not a large house, by any means, but with enough room for both of them to fit without getting in each other's way.

There were three bedrooms upstairs, various and sundry bathrooms, including one fitted with a gigantic tub, which pleased Walter to no end, and more closet space than either one of them needed.

He laughed out loud at the thought, and got a curious glance or two.

Somehow, while he'd been recovering in the hospital, Mulder had managed to make the move for both of them, blending their furnishings and possessions so seamlessly throughout the house that it felt as though they'd been living together forever. Of course, concessions had been made.

Skinner's couch won the living room coin toss, it being larger, newer and far more comfortable than Mulder's lumpy old futon, but the steel shelving was up in the corner, and new fish swam in the familiar aquarium. Skinner made a mental note to ask Mulder about the Buddhist statue in the corner-he didn't remember it, and he was certain he'd have noticed if Mulder had suddenly taken up religion.

The dining room was large and airy, and made up for the galley style kitchen, which suited Mulder fine, but which Skinner already knew was going to take some getting used to, after the large kitchen in his apartment. There were lots of things to get used to, he thought. Life is a series of checks and balances, and so far he seemed to be on the positive side.

The fireplace in the living room was another huge check mark for the plus side. On that, there was perfect agreement between him and Mulder, and he hoped that it wouldn't be long before he could properly display the effect that such things had on him to his lover.

Something on his face must have given his slightly carnal thoughts away as Scully approached him with a fresh beer in her hand.

"I'd say penny for your thoughts, sir," she said, smiling and handing him the bottle while relieving him of the one in his hand, which he was surprised to find empty. "But it looks like they're more of the four-ninety-five a minute variety."

They laughed together, then Walter gave her a stern look.

"Really, Scully, after all this- 'sir'? I think 'Walter' will do, don't you?"

She shrugged. "I suppose. Just seems odd, you know."

Both of them glanced over to where Mulder was descending the stairs with Byers, and he waved jauntily at them when he saw he had garnered their attention.

"Oh, believe me, I know from odd," Walter replied, making Scully laugh. Then she sobered and asked quietly, "So, how are you feeling, Walter?"

"Good. Fine. Ready to get back on the saddle, as it were."

Scully understood all about the need to work, to have something to lean on that was consistent and straightforward in a way that no single person could be. She just hoped that it would be that way for Skinner. Now that the truth was out there, as it were, she hoped that his job-his career-would still hold for him the way it had before.

Skinner's thoughts were more simple and direct. He knew how paperwork could grow into unmanageable drifts, even with other agents and directors taking on his caseload. Especially without someone familiar with his work habits to help them out. Without an assistant...

Kim Cooke had disappeared.

Once Walter had been coherent enough to understand what had happened to him, and why, he had rallied to his assistant's defense, refusing to press charges, even when the Director himself had tried to bully him into doing so.

He had even taken it upon himself to contact the families of the deceased, hoping to explain what had happened and how they could best avenge their loved ones without hurting Kim. He'd had to be covert, enlisting Holly in records to get him phone numbers and information, then making the calls while Mulder was away, suspecting that his lover would have all too much to say on the subject of Walter Skinner in crusader mode.

At his most deferential and charming, Walter was a force to be reckoned with, as Mulder could have certainly attested to, but even he couldn't dissuade all those hurting people. They had a face to lay blame on, and they were determined to do so, regardless of the circumstances surrounding the incident.

Then, a few days after a last futile call to the father of Agent Payne, who was apparently not only crying out for the chair for Kim, but was planning on filing a grievance suit against Walter himself (the theory being if Skinner hadn't asked Payne to be in the meeting, none of this would have happened, and never mind that it was the man's job, or that his father had not spoken to his son in well over a decade), Mulder had come to him with the news that Kim was gone.

There was no record of her leaving the hospital, and no one had seen anything, despite round the clock guards and a phalanx of agents trying to get all the information out of her that they could. She had literally vanished.

Walter was concerned for her, worried for the Bureau, but most of all surprised that his lover seemed to be taking the situation in stride. He remembered Mulder's nearly pathological insistence on trying to get to the bottom of his poisoning at the hands of Alex Krycek, and he wondered at his current lack of interest in this obviously quite personal missing person case.

Granted, with his own current situation, struggling to regain his physical health and find some sort of comfort level with his personal life, he hadn't been able to give the case much thought himself, and he supposed Mulder felt the same way. Still, he found his thoughts gravitating towards his assistant-ex-assistant now, he supposed sadly, at odd moments, worrying about her, wondering what had happened, and hoping unrealistically that she was all right, somewhere.

"Hey, Scully, you're putting the guest of honour to sleep-maybe you should do a strip tease or something!" Frohike had obviously had too much to drink, and if the loud guffaw and "Yeah, go girl!" which greeted this remark was any indication, so had Chuck Burke.

Scully gave a long-suffering sigh, which made Walter laugh, and said, "I think it's almost cab time for those two. Did you need anything, Walter?"

"If I said an empty house, a roaring fire and Mulder naked, would it be too much information?" His smile was sly, mocking the attempted innocence of his tone.

Scully rolled her eyes. "Way too much information." She dragged Frohike away from his apparent attempt to offer Walter some salsa which was resulting in a nasty red stain on the carpet, and Walter heard him slurringly leer, "ooh, a private show? I'm all in, baby."

'And I'm all out.' Walter thought to himself, then laughed at his own foolish pun. He glanced around the room again, noticing that he was getting tired, and that he'd never been happier in his life.

***

Mulder offered Scully the spare bed for the night, but she refused. She had been the first person to arrive that day, and now, after helping Mulder clean up the party leavings, then sharing a cup of tea with him and Walter, she was the last to be leaving. "Thanks, Mulder, but sometimes home is the place you have to be."

She hugged both men, lingering in Mulder's embrace just a little longer and whispering in his ear. "Don't let him tell you he's fine-put him to bed."

They both looked over to where Walter was standing, leaning heavily on the doorframe, eyes half shut.

"What?" he demanded, sounding less like a surly irritated supervisor and more like a cranky over-tired ten-year-old.

"Good night, Walter. I'll call you tomorrow, Mulder." And she slipped out the door. Mulder watched her get into a waiting cab, then shut the door as the car pulled away from the curb.

He turned to his lover and was about to order him into bed, when there was a quiet knock on the door that he had just locked.

They shared a quizzical look, then Mulder opened the door, saying, "Maybe Scully forgot her keys."

Kim Cooke stood there in dark pants and blouse, looking frightened and vulnerable.

Walter didn't hesitate. All fatigue forgotten, he lunged forward, ignoring a twinge in his abdomen, brushed past Mulder and took Kim in his arms.

"Oh my god, Kim! Are you all right? What happened!" He hugged her tightly, then realized she was still standing on the doorstep, and he pulled her into the house and closed the door.

Mulder excused himself with some excuse about trying to get that stain out of the carpet, and disappeared into the living room. Walter and Kim continued to hold one another in a loose embrace, both staring uncertainly into one another's eyes.

"I wasn't going to come-I shouldn't have-but, I needed to know you were... to see for myself..." Her voice trailed off, and she dropped her gaze to her shoes.

"I understand." It was all Walter could think to say. "I'm fine. Now. But Kim-"

She interrupted him abruptly, brushing her hand across his mouth.

"Not Kim, sir. Not anymore."

"What do you mean?"

"Didn't Agent Mulder tell you, sir?"

"Tell me what?" He struggled to make his tired brain make sense of what was happening.

"I thought it would be better to wait 'til you were stronger, Walter," Mulder replied for her as he returned to them, coming up to stand beside Skinner and put a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

"I think I'm stronger, Fox. You'd better explain." He glanced briefly at his lover, but quickly turned back to Kim.

"I knew what you were doing, Walter." There was no anger or accusation in Mulder's tone. Just something akin to pride. "With the phone calls and all. And I knew that even the best lawyers weren't going to get Kim out of this. And I couldn't let it happen. Because *you* wouldn't let it happen. And because I knew who deserved to go down for this, and it wasn't her."

"You're point?" demanded Walter impatiently.

"Agent Mulder took me out of the hospital under false pretenses, sir. I still don't know how." Kim turned a grateful smile on the younger man, then turned back to Skinner. "But he got me out, and took me to a place where he explained that there was another way." She lowered her voice. "I wouldn't have let him talk me into it if he hadn't sworn that you were going to be okay. Sir, you have to know I didn't-I mean I can't-" Tears threatened, and Walter shushed her.

"It's all right, Kim." He felt his own eyes welling up, but smiled at her, willing her to know that he bore her no ill will, that he wanted only for her to be safe...

"Samantha," said Mulder.

"What?" Walter didn't understand what Mulder's sister had to do with anything at this point.

"Kim Cooke no longer exists, sir," Kim explained. "Agent Mulder took me to meet some of his friends, and they made sure that-"

"All records of Kim Cooke are gone," Mulder interrupted. "Welcome to the wonderful world of high technology." He grinned crookedly at Walter. "Walter Skinner, meet Samantha Rice."

"My god," Walter breathed, "That's-that's incredible."

Kim pulled away from him suddenly. "I shouldn't have come. I just wanted to thank Agent Mulder-"

An uncomfortable shrug and a mumbled "welcome", and Walter didn't think he could love Fox Mulder more than he did at this very moment.

"And know for sure that you were fine, sir." Kim added, stepping back and brushing at her eyes.

Nobody spoke for a long moment, and then softly, Walter said, "Call if you ever need anything."

"Thank you, sir."

"Walter."

"Thank you, Walter."

"Goodbye, Samantha."

Mulder locked the door behind her, then turned and took his lover in a strong embrace, felt Walter's arms snake tightly around him, and kissed him tenderly on the cheek, tasting an errant tear.

"Quite a night, I'd say." He moved his mouth closer to Walter's ear.

"Quite a life," replied Walter, and Mulder could hear exhaustion in his voice.

"And we've just gotten to the good bit." He kissed Walter firmly on the mouth. "Bed, old man."

"I thought you'd never ask."

They ascended the stairs together, knowing that the worst was behind them, and, no matter the circumstances that would shape their future, they would face it together...

The End.

  
Archived: April 22, 2001 


End file.
